


The Princess Bride Job

by themonkeytwin



Category: Leverage, Princess Bride (1987)
Genre: Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-22
Updated: 2013-04-08
Packaged: 2017-12-06 02:55:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 28,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/730745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themonkeytwin/pseuds/themonkeytwin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fencing. Fighting. Torture. Revenge. Giants. Monsters. Chases. Escapes. True love. Miracles.</p><p>And hitter, hacker, grifter, thief, mastermind.</p><p>(It really wanted to be done, so I did.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Princess Bride Job

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: The usual. The characters, plot, and everything apart from the idea to mix'n'match them are not mine. Shocking, I know.
> 
> Written some years ago (between season 2 and 3, so team's relationships default to around early season two), after rewatching The Princess Bride with some friends, with Leverage on the brain. The whole time all I could think was, "I wonder how the team would tackle this?" And I just couldn't resist.

Around the city, three cells buzzed, beeped, and jingled with an incoming text.

"Got job. Meet Intl terminal asap."

Around the city, three criminals dropped what they were doing, picked up their nearest stashed go bag, and sped to the airport.

"~ _On coms. ETA ten minutes_.~" Eliot's voice was the first to check in, quickly followed by Parker.

"~ _I'm up. Be there in eight_.~"

"Sophie?" Nate asked.

"~ _Dunno_.~"

"~ _I'm here. Fifteen_.~"

"Okay. Good. Take off in two hours."

"~ _What's the fire?_ ~"

"The word is, a planned K&R of a royal family member."

The silence over coms was pointed, finally broken by Sophie. "~ _I beg your pardon?_ ~"

"~ _Yeah, don't bother, guys_ ,~" Hardison said. " _~I tried. It's a done deal. He's being Nate_.~"

The smile was audible in Sophie's voice. "~ _Unreasonable, you mean?_ ~"

"Hey, I can _hear_ you."

Eliot's voice did not sound like he was smiling. "~ _Nate, there are people for this. Alert their security_.~"

"Can't. It sounds like there might be someone on the inside, but we don't know who."

"~ _We?_ ~"

"The client. Intel's still patchy at the moment."

Eliot grunted. "~ _Great. Our favorite thing_.~"

"Hardison's working on it."

"~ _Yeah,_ and _cannibalizing the van,_ and _setting up the travel plans,_ and _forging everything we're gonna need,_ and _organizing equipment and funds. If you want half our equipment to function, we're gonna need to pick up a lot of stuff on the way, Nate_.~"

"The thing right now is to get there. It's going to take a while, at least two flights, and the last leg by boat. There's no airport anywhere close."

That reminded Hardison. "~ _Right, and FYI, there's barely any coverage to speak of in the whole backward-assed country. You do this to me just for kicks, am I right? I'm going to end up running command on a toaster, I bet a billion dollars_.~"

"I'll be glad if we even have electricity," Nate said, smiling slightly. "You probably should pick up a generator somewhere."

For few moments, the only sound on coms was Hardison's spluttering.

Then Parker piped up. "~ _So where are we going?_ ~"

Nate sighed. "Florin."

* * *

Five hours out from Zurich, and Nate could feel on coms that rest of the team were getting seriously edgy about the lack of information. Sophie, next to him in first class, kept giving him sidelong looks from behind her magazine. It was getting on his nerves.

"Hardison? What have you got?"

"~ _Uh, a news-flash? That nagging me won't make this go any faster_.~"

"~ _Anything you got, man, can we just do this?_ ~" It sounded like Eliot was feeling about as patient as Sophie. Being stuck in coach probably had something to do with that. Hardison had managed to get two seats next to one another in business as well, which he'd assigned to himself and Parker. It made sense, he'd said.

"~ _I got enough for a basic brief. Very basic_.~"

"It'll do."

"~ _You wanna kick off? I need to sequence a couple of things_.~"

"Alright, but we don't have much in the way of specifics yet. The client received information about an attempt to abduct the crown prince's fiancée. She's very popular, apparently. Worth a lot, done right. Florin's monarchy still governs."

"~ _Sounds high-risk to me_ ,~" said Parker. "~ _I mean, stealing crown jewels is one thing, and even those are guarded closely. Stealing royalty is another._ ~"

Sophie smiled a little. "Depends on the country. Florin's a bit ... useless, in the grand scheme of things."

"~ _You're telling me. I didn't even know it existed before today_ ,~" said Hardison.

"Well, hate to stereotype, you know, but there are a lot of countries you Americans are fuzzy on. Unless you're invading them. And even then...."

"~ _Hey, look, just because me n'Parker hadn't heard of it_ – ~"

"~ _Alright_ ,~" Eliot interrupted, putting a stop to that sidetrack before it began. "~ _Time frame?_ ~"

Nate shrugged. "Within the week, our guy said, but he can't narrow it down past that. He wants us to stop it from happening. Maybe he'll have more intel by the time we get there."

"~ _Yeah. On that subject, Nate – who is this guy?_ ~"

"Ah ... what do you mean?"

"~ _I mean, what kind of client has us on a plane to the backside of Europe with half an hour's notice and no idea what we're dropping into?_ ~"

"He's a ... he's someone I know. He asked for my help, and believe me, he wouldn't if he didn't need it." Sophie raised her eyebrows at him, and he decided they didn't need to get sidetracked with that right now, either. "Yeah. Okay. Hardison?

" _~Yeah. The visuals should be coming up on your phones. And let me just tell you, any intel we got before hitting the ground and checking it out ourselves is gonna be extremely sketchy. It's like the whole region fell in love with the seventeenth century and decided to just stay there. I can barely get anything remotely. I mean, these guys are still on the gold standard_.~"

"~ _As in...?_ ~" Parker asked.

"~ _As in, funds are gonna be a bitch unless one of y'all's got a talent for crapping gold coins I don't know about_.~"

There was a pause, and then Parker asked, "~ _Wouldn't you have to swallow them first?_ ~"

* * *

It was late in the afternoon, at the end of a day's worth of travelling, when they made rendezvous with their client's ship. The man who welcomed them aboard seemed young, although the mask he wore made it harder to peg his age. And there was something stern in his bearing which suggested that, however youthful his appearance, his age in competence and will was far higher than his mere years would suggest.

"Nathan!" he greeted him as they boarded, hobbling surprisingly gracefully on crutches toward them. "Am I glad to see you. Thank you for coming."

"Of course," Nate replied, shaking his hand. "This is my team. Sophie, Eliot, Parker, Hardison, this is Westley, our client."

"Yes, unfortunately," Westley said wryly, shaking their hands. "I was intending to take care of this myself, but unexpected broken legs being what they are, I'm not up to it, I'm afraid. Welcome to the _Revenge_."

Parker looked up. "Hey – that's a Jolly Roger. You're a pirate!"

"Succinctly put." Westley continued to sound coolly amused, although that could have been because of his Florinese accent, very similar to an educated English one. "The captain, in fact." If he was surprised that this made the team turn to stare at Nate instead of at himself, he didn't show it. "My men can show you where to stow your belongings, and then I can brief you on our situation."

The team were stowing their equipment, and everything Hardison had managed to scrounge at the last port, when a sudden shout arrested all activity on deck.

"Sir! Captain!"

"Yes?"

"Just got word, sir, from your man in Florin. The lady's been snatched. You was right."

"When?"

"Only this afternoon. He says the rumors are all over the place, already."

The ship seemed to explode into action, a chaos of men choreographed by Westley's rapid-fire orders. Within a few minutes the _Revenge_ was underway, heading for the coast of Florin. Then he turned his attention back to the team, who'd mostly been trying to stay out of the way, and politely ushered them below.

Westley waited for them to pass, then shared a quiet look with Nate. "Again, Nathan, thank you for this. You and Dad are the only two people in the world I'd trust to handle this.... And of those two, you're the only one I actually trust."

"Ahm, yeah. Don't mention it," said Nate casually, although it was already too late. He knew by the tilt of Eliot's head that he'd overheard. It was much too much to hope that the hitter couldn't come up with four when someone handed him two and two.

He just knew this was going to get complicated.


	2. The Clifftop Caper

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am now stealing lines directly from the Princess Bride screenplay (in case anyone couldn't tell).

The light of dawn revealed a truly remarkable geographical feature to the rather daunted group in the pirate ship's skiff.

"The Cliffs of Insanity," said Westley unenthusiastically. "They're heading straight for them. I did hope it wouldn't come to that."

"They're landing." They were so close to the other ship they were almost on top of it, but Sophie still raised the telescope disbelievingly. "What are they doing? Is that a rope?"

Westley took the telescope for a moment. "They're climbing. Clever."

Nate looked over at Eliot, who rolled his eyes. "Alright. Is there a way around?"

Westley shook his head. "Not for miles. We'd lose them."

Sophie couldn't stop watching the group onshore. "That giant's carrying them! All of them!"

Even Nate paused at that, taking his own turn on the telescope. "Huh. Hardison? Can you track them?"

Hardison, nested in a temporary command center back on the _Revenge_ , took a minute to reply. "~ _Sorry, Nate. Satellites take time_.~"

Westley brought the skiff up to the ship's landing-place smoothly, and Nate sighed. Nothing for it. "Time to go old school, then. Parker?"

But Parker had already grabbed her lightweight, portable rig, vaulted off the skiff, and was climbing like a cat. Hampered by the bulk strapped across her shoulders, she nevertheless began gaining on the bizarre conglomerate of people strapped together, rising by the strength of the giant's arms alone.

"Good. Be careful. Eliot?"

Eliot squinted up at the cliffs towering above them like bad hyperbole. "You're kidding, right?"

"You're the retrieval –"

"Specialist. That's right," he snapped. "Not an idiot!"

"Please," said Westley quietly, but with a wealth of frustration simmering underneath, earning a measuring look from Eliot.

"I –" Eliot cast around, but knew he'd already lost. "I am wearing _tights_ ," he huffed, gesturing at the clothes they borrowed from the pirates in order to blend in.

"~Tight _tights_ ,~" came Hardison's snicker, which was ignored.

"~ _These aren't bad for climbing, actually_ ,~" said Parker, her breathing a little labored. "~ _I like the mask_.~"

"And this stupid sword, and these boots – and you want me to climb that?"

Nate looked at him. "You want Parker up there with those guys, alone?"

Eliot glared back, then snatched the mask Nate was holding out, settling it in place before jumping off the skiff.

"Have fun."

Eliot did not waste breath on a reply.

"Alright, we can't do much more here. Let's get some distance and see what's going on."

Westley took them further out from shore, where they could monitor the progress of the climbers. Parker had almost caught the group up, but was cautiously staying far enough below that she could avoid anything they tried to drop on her. Eliot was slower, but also steadily gaining on them. The occasional muttered invective sounded across coms, which Nate pretended he couldn't hear.

"Okay, Parker, they're almost at the top. They'll cut the rope. Can you –"

"~ _Yeah, I'm fine. Eliot, grab rock_.~"

There was a grunt as he gained a tiny ledge on the cliff face, a few moments before the heavy rope slithered wickedly away.

"~ _Okay, good_ ,~" said Parker. "~ _Stay where you are._ ~"

Eliot cleared his throat meaningfully. "~ _Anyone wanna tell me what's happening?_ ~"

"You're doing good. Parker will find a place to anchor her rig, and lower the line. She's not far. Just hold tight."

There was a thoughtful silence, as though Eliot was running through all the options of what he could yell at Nate. Then he said, "~ _No kidding_.~"

Westley was watching through the telescope. "They're leaving. Wait – one of them's staying behind. Looks like the swordsman."

"Hardison, do you have maps of the terrain? Is there anywhere Parker can go where he can't get at her?"

"~ _Can you send me some pictures of where they are?... Okay, let me see. Yeah, if she edges to, uh, her right, there should be a kind of_ – ~"

Faintly, over Parker's com, they heard a Spanish accent shout, "~ _Hello there!_ ~"

There was a pause of a few seconds, then Parker called back. "~ _What?_ ~"

"~ _Slow going?_ ~"

"~ _Not really. I'm just trying to find a way up where you can't kill me_.~"

There was a long silence where the man seemed to be digesting this. "~ _You are ... are you a woman?_ ~"

This threw Parker off her stride. "~ _Uh ... yeah? So?_ ~"

The confusion was audible in the Spaniard's voice, even over coms. "~ _But you are wearing the clothing of a man. We thought you were a man!_ ~" He sounded panicked. "~ _I cannot kill a woman like this!_ ~"

Eliot was not finding his ledge getting any more comfortable, perched three quarters of the way up the cliff. "~ _Parker! Get on with it!_ ~"

"~ _Nate?_ ~" she asked. "~ _What do I do?_ ~"

"Er...." Nate glanced at Sophie, who'd taken the telescope and was observing the man through it. She shrugged and nodded. "It sounds okay. He ... looks like he means it. Tell him there's a guy coming, see if we can get both of you up."

"~ _I've got a man here that you can kill_ ,~" she called out earnestly. "~ _Only you have to let me up first_.~"

The man considered this. "~ _That sounds fair_.~"

* * *

Parker quickly scaled the last few yards, then braced the rig against the rock that had anchored the rope. The Spaniard watched the proceedings with interest.

"Here, I'm lowering the harness. Tell when you've got it."

For a long moment there was only the sound of gulls, far below them. Then, "~ _Got it. Hang on_.~"

His breath rasped loud as he scrabbled to put on the harness, without losing his hold on the cliff, before he indicated he was set.

"Okay, this might take a few minutes. It's going to winch you up. Keep the line clear of any jags."

"I do not mean to pry, but who are you people?"

Parker looked at the Spaniard, startled. "Oh. Er –"

"~ _Tell him we're people with similar interests to his_ ,~" Nate supplied.

"We're people with similar interests."

"With Guilder?" He sounded surprised.

"Er ... yes?" she hedged.

"~ _Westley, what is he talking about?_ ~" asked Nate.

"~ _I don't know. What would Guilder have to do with this? Unless_...~" the pirate trailed off.

"~ _Unless what?_ ~"

"~ _Well – unless it isn't a kidnapping_.~"

Nate caught on. "~ _You mean, Guilder trying to provoke war?_ ~"

"~ _They are old enemies_ ,~" said Sophie thoughtfully. "~ _The only reason they haven't fought lately is because their last war nearly bankrupted both of them_.~"

"~ _And they've recovered somewhat in the last decade. Yeah_.~"

"~ _Which means they will kill her_ ,~" said Westley flatly.

"~ _Alright, guys, speed it up. Get the princess back. We're going to try and find out what's going on_.~"

Meanwhile, the Spaniard had clearly had something on his mind. "I have to ask – do you have a man with six fingers on his right hand?"

Parker, no stranger to strange questions, only shrugged. "No. Why?"

"My father was slaughtered by a six-fingered man."

"Oh."

The Spaniard seemed to get a little lost in the past, musing, "He was a great swordmaker, my father."

"Okay."

"The six-fingered man came and requested a special sword."

"Makes sense."

"My father slaved a year before he was done."

"Uh huh," said Parker, checking the line and peering over the side.

"The six-fingered man returned and demanded it, but at one-tenth his promised price. My father refused. Without a word, the six-fingered man slashed him through the heart. I loved my father, so, naturally, I challenged his murderer to a duel...." He frowned. "I failed."

This seemed to catch Parker's attention. "How old were you?"

He started at her question, almost having forgotten he was not alone with the memory of his father's killer. "I was eleven years old."

"Oh. Yeah," said Parker brightly, as though she'd solved a puzzle. "Should have used explosives."

He looked at her with an expression suggesting that he'd never thought of that. Then he shrugged. "I dedicated my life to the study of fencing." His slight smile carried a vicious promise. "So the next time we meet, I will not fail. I will go up to the six-fingered man and say, 'Hello. My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die.'"

"~ _Did you get that, Hardison?_ ~" asked Nate.

"~ _Yeah. Inigo Montoya.... Not a lot of info on him. Swordmaster. Itinerant sword-for-hire. Last known associate ... Vizzini, no first name_.~"

"~ _Well, it's somewhere to start_.~"

Parker looked at Inigo incredulously. "So ... you haven't found the guy yet?"

Inigo got a little defensive. "No."

"Wow. You should get on that."

"I've been trying for twenty years."

Parker frowned. "Just by asking people if they know him?"

"I am starting to lose confidence," Inigo admitted.

She considered this. "Have you tried google?"

A scrape and a growl interrupted his reply, and announced Eliot pulling himself over the lip of the cliff. He rolled to his feet, unhooked from the line with a violent jerk, took two steps, punched Inigo, and stepped over his unconscious body to lean heavily against the boulder.

After a few deep breaths, he straightened and turned to Parker. "Okay. Let's go steal this damn princess back."


	3. The Brain vs Brawn Switch

Back on the _Revenge_ , the mastermind, grifter, and pirate were gathered around the hacker's command center.

Below decks, Westley had dispensed with his mask, revealing a young man handsome enough to even carry off a trim, straight moustache with style. His eyes were bright with youth and sharp with intelligence, despite the shadows lurking within.

Studying him, Sophie thought he couldn't be much older than Hardison. If that. Half curious, half worried, her eyes darted between their client and their boss as the two men stood comfortably side-by-side, seeking out the shape of past mystery about them. None of the team liked it when Nate kept things from them, and for good reason.

Hardison brought a picture to the screen. "Vizzini. Sicilian. Very shady. Odd jobs, a couple that have assassination written all over them. Current known associates, Inigo Montoya, a Spanish fencer, and an ex-wrestler known as Fezzik, previously of Greenland. Quite the mixed selection."

Westley's eyes flickered around the group he was standing amongst. "Quite. In any case, I've heard of him. Vicious little bully. Rumored to be outrageously intelligent." He exchanged a thoughtful smile with Nate. "Shouldn't be much of a problem.... Eliot? If his killer couldn't stop you, Vizzini will send the muscle next, while he tries to get away. I don't believe he is keen on direct confrontation."

"~ _Wrestler, you said?_ ~"

"Yeah...." Hardison looked doubtful. "He's pretty ... big, man."

"~ _Yeah, and?_ ~"

Hardison was not seeing the need for an "and". "He's big."

Eliot sounded more annoyed than worried, as usual. "~ _Yeah, Hardison. He hauled all four of them up that cliff. I know he's big,_ ~" he said tersely. "~ _What are you trying to say?_ ~"

"Just ... sayin'."

"How long before we have satellite coverage?" asked Nate.

"Maybe twenty minutes."

"Good. Eliot, Parker, get to the princess as fast as you can. Westley, take us to Florin."

Westley paused. "Florin? Not Guilder?"

Nate shook his head. "There's something going on here. We need to talk to your source."

* * *

"Hold up," said Eliot to Parker, scanning the bend ahead of them as it climbed through a scattering of rocks and boulders. She followed his gaze and nodded, drawing back.

Warily, Eliot moved forward. He rounded the bend and instinctively ducked, charging at the giant who had thrown a rock at his head even as it shattered on the boulder behind him. He springboarded off a hump of stone to get high enough just to land a punch, which barely rocked the man.

Fezzik grinned and moved surprisingly fast to put him in a lock, but not before Eliot hit him across the ear and head-butted him, then slipped out from his loosened grip.

"You're quick," Fezzik said appreciatively.

Eliot gave a look of surprise at the slow, genuine good humor in the giant's tone. "Uh ... thanks, man," he said, circling, edging closer to a boulder for better ground.

"Why do you wear a mask?" Fezzik asked, matching Eliot's maneuvering. "Were you burned by acid, or something like that?"

Eliot's smile became amused, almost sympathetic, at his opponent's innocent curiosity. His brief laugh was not mocking. "Nah. Just looking the part. People see what they expect to."

Fezzik smiled back as he worked the idea through his mind. "Like me," he mused. "They always see the biggest and the strongest. Go away, dumb scary gia–"

Parker landed on his back and jabbed a needle in his neck, injecting its full load, then slid clear. He staggered, eyes losing focus, then fell to his knees. He turned towards to Eliot.

"You cheated," he said reproachfully.

"You threw a rock at my head," Eliot pointed out.

"I missed ... on purpose.... I don't have to ... miss...."

With a resounding thud, Fezzik hit the dirt face first. Eliot took hold of him and, with a long heave, rolled him over, feeling for the pulse. Satisfied at its strength, considering the doping Parker had given him, he put his hand on the huge chest for a moment.

"Sorry," he said gruffly.

Parker got back up on her boulder to look at the path ahead. "Nate? Two down."

"~ _Yeah, we got you. Satellite's up. Vizzini seems to be taking the princess to the Guilder frontier_.~"

* * *

"Hey Nate? Look at this," said Hardison, zooming in on the cliff-top, revealing the figures of men on horseback, but no swordsman – it seemed that Inigo had already woken up and fled.

Nate and Westley leaned in, examining the image.

"Can you refine it any more?" Nate asked. Hardison did, and Westley nodded.

"That looks like a Florinese flag. And those men are in Florin Castle's colors. Two, four, five ..." he counted. "That's the prince's personal guard. And two noblemen. It's Prince Humperdinck and Count Rugen." He saw Hardison's quizzical expression, and shrugged. "You pick these things up."

Hardison looked back and forth between Westley and Nate. "You ... pick up a lot."

"How did they get there so fast?" asked Nate.

"Prince Humperdinck has a reputation as an expert tracker and hunter," said Sophie. "It's about all he's known for."

Westley shook his head. "No one could have tracked them that quickly. Not even him."

"They knew where the kidnappers were going," concluded Nate. He met Westley's eyes. "Either the prince has very good sources, or you were right. There was definitely someone on the inside."

"They're heading off," said Hardison. "Eliot, they're on your trail."

"We need to get into the royal court." Nate cocked his head at Sophie, eyes alight with the smile he reserved just for her. "Something in a countess, perhaps?"

* * *

Parker and Eliot's running pace slowed as they reached the crest of the plateau to see Vizzini and the princess waiting for them, further on.

Parker turned to Eliot. "Is that a picnic table?"

"Looks like."

Parker pondered it. "Why?"

"Maybe he's hungry," Eliot said absently, looking around. Vizzini had chosen a good place for his impromptu snack, out in the wide open. There was no cover to speak of for anyone trying to sneak up on him. In a country without sniper rifles, it was the way to go.

Having seen them, Vizzini had put a knife to the neck of the princess, who was blindfolded. Not a lot of good options. Eliot kept walking toward them, Parker following.

"If he's just going to kill her anyway, why doesn't he do it now?" she asked.

"Bargaining chip," said Eliot. "And then he'd have to carry the body."

"Then can you bluff him?"

"Not if he's still willing to kill her, if he has to."

They slowed up as they approached, examining the tableau.

The man smiled smugly. "So, it is down to you, and it is down to me," he said, in a voice that engendered instant loathing.

Eliot nodded, coming closer as unthreateningly as he could.

The princess drew a sharp breath, and a little line of red appeared where the knife met her throat. "If you wish her dead, by all means keep moving forward," Vizzini said silkily.

Both stopped in their tracks.

Eliot was unable to hide his uncertainty. "Can we talk?"

Vizzini sneered. "There's nothing to talk about. You're trying to kidnap what I've rightfully stolen."

"If you kill her, you won't walk away," Eliot said somewhat desperately.

"Yes. An impasse. I can't compete with you physically, and you're no match for my brains."

"Why? How smart are you?"

"Let me put it this way: ever heard of Plato? Aristotle? Socrates?"

"Um.... Yeah."

Vizzini dismissed them with epic contempt. "Morons."

"Well, then, how about a game of wit and skill?"

"With you?" Vizzini asked witheringly.

Eliot shifted defensively. "Yeah. For the princess."

A gleam of anticipation came into the assassin's eye. "To the death?"

"Uh, it's rock, paper, scissors."

Vizzini stared at him, then burst into laughter. "By all means," he said when he recovered, putting his knife down. He looked at Parker. "She stays where she is. Give her your sword, and you can sit."

Eliot unbuckled the sword and handed it to Parker, then sat down across from Vizzini, eyeing the princess. He set his fist on his palm. "Best of three?"

Vizzini did the same, barely able to keep from chuckling.

"One, two, three," they chanted, smacking fists on palms at each beat.

Vizzini's hand was flat, Eliot's balled, and Vizzini cackled. "How predictable! The dumb muscle counts on strength, and chooses a fist! A clever man would have known that strength is no guarantee of victory against learning. It must be inconceivable to you that a flimsy piece of paper conquers the rock, and yet it is one-nil to me."

Eliot frowned at him. "Lucky guess. You're just trying to make me give something away."

Vizzini didn't contain his glee at Eliot's nervousness. "You've given everything away! You've already lost! Any choice you make will be the wrong one, because I know what it will be!"

Eliot took a deep breath, wordlessly resuming the position. This time they didn't count. The only sound was three quick smacks, revealing Eliot's fist again, but this time it sat opposite to Vizzini's two fingers.

Vizzini's eyes raised to Eliot's face, disconcerted. Eliot held the gaze from behind his mask with a faint smile.

"Uh – of course – you –" Vizzini said, fumbling, but Eliot only raised his hands again, distinct menace in the set of his shoulders.

The swift one-two-three left Vizzini staring at Eliot's fist, while holding out his own fingers in the scissor position. With a sudden snarl, he snatched up his knife from the table, but even as he lunged Eliot grabbed his wrist with one hand and punched him with the other.

Parker came up next to him, looking down at the little man sprawled on the ground. "What are we going to do with him?"

Eliot looked speculatively at the knife he'd stripped from Vizzini's hand when he fell, but then tossed it on the table. "Nate, you said Humperdinck is behind us?"

"~ _Yeah. Maybe half an hour_.~"

Eliot undid the princess's bindings, then pulled Vizzini's hands behind his back and tied him up. "We leave him."

"~ _They do pretty nasty things to assassins in Florin,_ ~" said Westley.

"Yeah." Eliot smiled inscrutably. "I know."


	4. The Fire Swamp Slip

The princess was wheezing by the time they paused at the deep, jagged gash in the landscape they'd been told to look for.

"Okay, we're at the ravine," said Eliot, turning to search the horizon behind them for pursuit.

"~ _Good. Go to your left,_ ~" said Westley. "~ _That will take you around the head of it_.~"

"~ _Then you got a clear run to Florin City,_ ~" added Hardison. "~ _We'll meet you there_.~"

"Yeah, just one problem. It doesn't matter how clear the run is, if Humperdink catches us, we're screwed."

"If you release me," said the princess, between gasps, "whatever you ask for ransom ... you'll get it, I promise you...."

"Yeah, not now, sweetheart," said Eliot distractedly. "He's got horses, man. We're on foot. That doesn't work too well on the open road." On top of that, there was the bright red dress the princess was wearing. Bold fashion choice, yes, but not exactly ideal for reducing their visibility. He and Parker, all in black, could probably find a way to evade the hunter on their trail easily. It was the not-very-fit, conspicuously-dressed target they were dragging with them that was going to give them trouble.

Hardison sounded put-upon. "~ _Hey, this wasn't my plan_.~"

"This isn't a plan at all. Just once, I'd like to not end up making it up as we go along."

The princess drew herself up haughtily, voice hard with warning. "No matter where you take me," she said, "there's no greater hunter than Prince Humperdinck. He could track a falcon on a cloudy day. He can find you."

Eliot glanced at Parker, who shrugged. He walked over to the brainless young beauty – not that he had a problem with that, but trying to outrun mounted men on unfamiliar terrain was not the time – and was taken by surprise by the fearlessness with which she met his eyes.

"Look," he said gently. "We're going to get you back to where you belong. We're just not sure who to trust right now. You're safer with us."

She gave him an incredulous look, and he had to admit that appearances were not so much in their favor here.

He turned up the charm a little. "My name's Eliot. This is Parker," he said, his tone inviting her to respond.

She gave her name guardedly. "Buttercup."

He smiled encouragingly at her. "Okay. Buttercup. We came to save you from Vizzini, and we're trying to figure out what he kidnapped you for."

"But why?" she asked suspiciously.

"This pirate called –" Parker was harshly cut off by Westley.

"~ _Don't tell her!_ ~"

At that moment, Eliot caught sight of a dust cloud rising from the horizon.

"Pirate?" Buttercup's eyes snapped to Eliot. "The Dread Pirate Roberts?"

"Who?" asked Parker.

"~ _Me,_ ~" said Westley tightly.

"We gotta move," said Eliot, reaching for Buttercup.

She wrenched away from him and backed off, glaring with accusation. "And is she your love?" she asked rather dramatically, pointing angrily at Parker.

"What?" asked Parker.

"Of course she is," Buttercup said venomously. "Why else would you have a woman as a companion?"

Eliot did not have time for this. "Can this wait?" he asked pointedly.

"Then you can feel the pain you have inflicted on me," Buttercup continued with a kind of frenzied triumph, and without warning turned and shoved Parker over the edge of the ravine.

Caught flat-footed, Parker lurched and grabbed onto Buttercup to stop herself from falling, but only succeeded in pulling the princess after her. Eliot swore and ran to the edge, watching the two women tumble down the steep slope. Parker managed to achieve a controlled slide, but there was every chance Buttercup would be dead by the time she hit the bottom.

"~ _What the hell just happened?_ ~" demanded Nate.

"Your damn princess had a crazy-fit and pushed Parker into the ravine," Eliot snapped. "Parker took her with her."

"~ _Are they okay?_ ~"

"~ _I'm okay,_ ~" said Parker breathlessly, getting to her feet. "~ _I don't know about her. She's out cold. It's going to take time to climb out, unless we just leave her here_.~"

"I vote yes," Eliot said coldly.

He could practically hear Nate shaking his head; the mastermind did not like giving up leverage. "~ _No. We can't. Hardison, where does the ravine lead?_ ~"

"~ _The Fire Swamp,_ ~" Hardison said apprehensively. "~ _Sounds very, very bad_.~"

Westley joined in, but sounded preoccupied. "~ _It is_.~"

Eliot looked over his shoulder. The horseriders kicking up the dust cloud had become visible, and, if they were any good at all, had already spotted him. At least they couldn't follow them down here.

"Out of time, Nate," he said, and dropped smoothly over the side.

* * *

Nate turned to look at Westley, eyebrows raised in question. For the first time, the pirate captain betrayed less-than-total composure, finding it hard to meet Nate's eyes. Then he lifted his chin, put his earbud on the desk, and nodded stiffly at the group staring at him. "Excuse me."

Nate looked at them, pocketed his own earbud and followed Westley out.

Hardison glanced at Sophie to see if she was going to go too, but she shook her head. Nate would not thank her for it; nor, she suspected, would Westley. Anyway, she was determined she would get it out of Nate soon enough.

"~ _Hardison? What are we in for?_ ~"

"I don't even know, man. Westley punked out and Nate went after him, but they took off their coms and I got no idea what's going on anymore."

"~ _What? The Fire Swamp, Hardison!_ ~" Eliot had his "you idiot" mood on. Typical. It had been an honest mistake. "~ _The very, very bad thing we're walking into! Tell us about it!_ ~"

"Oh, are we feeling a little stressed? Not so fragrantly fresh?" Hardison couldn't resist needling back. The search hits he was getting from "fire swamp" couldn't be called reassuring, but between Parker and Eliot, he wasn't that worried about their ability to get through it. Besides, this might be the time he could finally make the hitter's head explode from sheer irritation. Which would be counter-productive, but satisfying.

"~ _Yeah, and how's all that very strenuous sitting going for you?_ ~" Eliot retorted.

"Alright," said Sophie, an edge to her voice that immediately made them both subside. "Florin's Fire Swamp is infamous, locally at least. No one's ever survived it. They say there are three terrors of the Fire Swamp: flame spurts, lightning sand, and R.O.U.S.s."

"~ _Rodents of Unusual Size? Seriously?_ ~" It was somehow unsurprising that Eliot had heard of them. "~ _I didn't think they existed anymore_.~"

"~ _Rodents of what?_ ~" Parker asked, needing clarification.

"Rats, Parker," said Hardison, staring in disbelief at an image. It was enough to give anyone nightmares, no matter how tough – or how ready to shut themselves up in frightening places to get over phobias – they were. "Giant, like, man-sized rats."

"~ _Oh, okay_.~"

Sophie glanced at the picture, too, and shuddered. "Well, that's what they say is in there. There's not a lot known, really, because no one's ever come out of it. No one who has any choice goes in, in the first place.... There might also be flesh-eating vines."

Hardison stared at her, then started another search.

"~ _Really?_ ~" Parker sounded fascinated.

Eliot didn't. "~ _Soph, are you just messing with Parker here?_ ~"

Sophie exchanged rueful looks with Hardison. "I wish I were. I'm only telling you what I've heard."

"~ _Holy crap_.~"

That Parker's quiet exclamation had not followed from their conversation was obvious. "What?" Hardison asked sharply; his contrition and alarm had spent the last few minutes climbing somewhat.

"~ _We can see the swamp_ ,~" Eliot answered, matter-of-factly. "~ _Let's get inside, we're sitting ducks down here. Hardison, get us everything you can on this place_.~"

"Working on it, man," said Hardison fervently, initiating more data crawls. He toggled briefly to the real-time satellite image; Buttercup's red dress made it easy to spot them, only fifty yards from a tangled, ugly canopy. And that wasn't all. "Guys? Humperdinck almost has you in sight."

Then a weak groan that didn't come from Parker or Eliot floated across coms, followed by a gasp and shrill panic and struggling.

"~ _Put me down!_ ~"

After a moment they heard Eliot give up and dump her on the ground. "~ _Here, stand up. Come on. We're moving_.~"

"~ _What – where – where are you taking me?_ ~"

"~ _Into the Fire Swamp,_ ~" he said, in the voice he used when making it clear there was no alternative and no argument going.

There was a kind of sigh, and brief movement, then silence.

"What happened?" Sophie asked, while Hardison compulsively brought up the satellite's feed again. They were apparently equally jumpy being stuck so far away, of no substantial help.

"~ _She fainted_.~"

"~ _Eliot. Look,_ ~" said Parker suddenly. "~ _Humperdinck_.~"

For a few minutes the only noise on coms was Eliot scooping Buttercup back up, and the panting of he and Parker as they sprinted for the swamp.

"This is not going to help us prevent a war with Guilder," Sophie said dismally, watching their tiny figures disappear under the trees.

"~ _One good thing,_ ~" said Parker, as they halted within the cover of the Fire Swamp and caught their breath, "~ _they know we've gone in. They won't expect us to come out_.~"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The flesh-eating vines are mentioned in the book, and in the directions of the screenplay. I'm not making them up. You can see Westley hacking at them in the movie, although it's not very exciting.


	5. The First Love Fall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The entire backstory of Westley and Buttercup needed to work in somewhere, so here it is, also playing with Nate's father and past. Oh, and like the vines, the idea of Westley heading to America was in the book.

Up on deck, the _Revenge_ had the living, eagerly straining feel of a vessel at speed, the warm wind whipping through hair and clothes, seaspray saturating the air with the smell of salt. The sun skated out from behind grey clouds, filling the world with glare, then hid again. At the bows, Westley was leaning easily into the movement of his ship in spite of his broken leg, staring blankly ahead.

Nate joined him silently.

After a few minutes, Westley glanced at him, then back out to sea, his hand seeking out the contour of the bow and rail as though to draw on its fierceness. "She's a good ship," he said, inconsequentially. "Sound." He eyed Nate again, acknowledgement in his nod. "Like your people. You were right. I've never seen better."

Nate nodded back, waiting. If he'd learned anything about Westley, it was that he opened up when and how he liked. It was probably hard-wired in his genetic code, to be honest.

Finally, Westley sighed. "Remember when I contacted Dad?"

Nate almost laughed. Did he remember? The phonecall from his father five years ago felt like yesterday, unwelcome and out of nowhere, but the opening words had electrified him. _Need your help, boy. Your brother's gone missing_.

Which, considering that Nate had never known he had a brother, led to quite a complicated conversation.

"Mm-hm," he said.

To give their father what credit was due, he hadn't known either. Discovering a full-grown son from an affair in an obscure corner of Europe, who'd been taken in by a farmer when his mother died, and who was now coming to America to make his fortune, was shock enough.

Learning not two weeks later that his newfound son's ship had been attacked by pirates had galvanized Jimmy Ford to call his other son, and the two of them burned through contacts and favors on both sides of criminality until they located Roberts. Whatever their differences, family was family.

"Did I ever tell you why?"

The question seemed to be bigger than just tracking down a lost father. "Why...?" Nate prompted.

Westley paused, looking away. "Why I wanted to come to America. Why I decided to find Dad, to see if he could help me."

He hadn't. Looking at him now, Nate recalled the lithe stripling he'd first met on the deck of this very pirate ship. Who'd stood and moved and spoke as though he didn't even notice the daily threat of execution Roberts held over his head; so effortlessly golden that he won hearts just standing there, a quality he had to have gotten from his mother. Yet, under all that, even as young as he was, he'd been as cagey and canny as either his brother or his father.

Within five minutes of meeting him, neither his brother nor his father had been any more anxious about the potential execution than Westley was.

"There was this ... girl."

At the quiet snort, he looked up, then shared Nate's sardonic smile. "There always is," said Nate.

"Yes," Westley agreed. "Nathan, she was...." He trailed off, then shrugged at the inadequacy of mere words. "She was the most sublime creature it's possible to imagine."

He noticed Nate's veiled scepticism, and nodded as though accepting its validity, but held his ground on the statement anyway. "It's true. I grew up with her, on the farm. She was ... beautiful."

Nate grew almost uncomfortable at the soft note in Westley's voice, like an intruder upon something sacred. Westley stared out to sea, looking far beyond the horizon of the visible. "I've never seen that kind of beauty.... She was so perfect in it, inhabited it so purely." He shook his head. "She was incapable of ever being less than all she is. She may not be smart or very good at anything much, but everything she does and is, is done with total purity. Everyone felt it. You can't describe it.... You couldn't not love her. I didn't even try. I just drowned in it."

Nate remembered those feelings, the passion of a love with no benchmark, how the sun had risen and set with Maggie. He watched his brother in silent sympathy, detecting the sour gnawing below the words and memories.

"Every day, I told her. Not the words. She didn't want to hear them. But I told her. Everything I did was for her, to please her." He picked at the ship's rail, then faced Nate and smiled, half bitter, half resigned. "I was happy. Even if she never loved me, it was enough to be there, to love her."

Nate voiced his fairly simple deductions. "So ... this princess...?"

Westley swallowed and looked away. "Buttercup." Her name was a reluctant breath squeezed from his lungs, and yet a confession so reverent that it raised goosebumps.

This job was definitely taking shape. "Right," said Nate gently. "Well, we've got her now, she's safe ... I mean, apart from the Fire Swamp, obviously, but –"

Westley cut him off scorchingly. "She's engaged."

"Yeah ..." said Nate slowly, not entirely understanding, seeing there was more to this. A simple engagement, even to a crown prince, even in total, perfect purity of being – whatever that meant in the real world – couldn't withstand Westley at full tilt, going after something he wanted.

Westley had regained his cool, or at least the appearance of it, and seemed willing enough to keep explaining himself in response to Nate's confusion. "I'd have stayed there forever, as things were."

Nate wondered about that. He'd met more than a few people at the very top of their respective games; worked with four of them, in fact. Westley was as ruthlessly driven as any of them, perhaps more; but then, maybe he really could have turned that dedication to harnessing all his brilliance and talent to a meager farm in a nothing country.

The very idea was repugnant. Whatever the cause, and whatever the result, Nate was glad it had broken him loose. But he didn't interrupt.

Westley's laugh was cynical. "And then, Nathan, I discovered she loved me back." Nate winced, wishing he couldn't now see where this was going. "Loved me as truly as I loved her. It changed everything. I had nothing. No money, no prospects, nothing to offer her, nothing of what she deserved. But I had a father, somewhere in America, where fortunes are made, and I had will enough to succeed."

That, he had. Nate remembered how, in the end, neither he nor his father had argued with Westley, or tried to strong-arm Roberts, when Westley elected to stay and take his chances on the ship instead of the new world. It was no surprise when he eventually inherited the _Revenge_ , along with the name of her pirate captain. Nate had never been all that happy about that part, yet while he and his father had lapsed back into sullen estrangement with one another, he'd taken any opportunity to catch up with his little brother when travelling nearby. Sometimes, family was family in different ways.

"I set out, believing in her. Believing in her love and her faithfulness." Westley took a moment, mustering the bitter words. "Now she's engaged."

They stood in silence, each in their own world, rocking with the motion of the ship.

"I feel like I'm going crazy," Westley admitted after a while. "Hearing her voice ... I wasn't prepared for that. Being here, unable to do anything...." He shook his head, revealing something of the storm inside. "I thought I'd hate her, that I couldn't forgive her, but.... I don't even know what I'm feeling."

Nate could offer some wry compassion on that score. "It happens."

It was received in kind. "So I've discovered."

As Nate processed the story, the situation finally began to make sense to him, although there were still a few details that didn't. For confirmation, he asked, "Look ... tell me if I misunderstood this, but she knew you'd been attacked by Roberts?"

Westley frowned, questioning the relevance. "You heard her just now. She wanted some revenge for losing me. Cold comfort, I suppose."

Nate persisted with the line of reasoning. "Then, given Roberts' reputation of, you know, killing everyone –" which Westley had found quite creative ways to maintain, although Nate suspected he hadn't always kept his hands free of blood, "– wouldn't she have thought you were dead? For the last five years?"

"Does it matter?"

Nate felt a little flumoxed. "Ahh ... I don't know? Maybe."

Westley stared at him as though he were being totally unreasonable. "This was true love, Nathan! Once-in-an-age-of-man, everlasting, stuff-of-legends, true love!"

Caught in the sweep of Westley's passion in spite of himself, Nate was beginning to wonder if Westley wasn't right, and that he was the one being unreasonable. Then he shook his head, reasserting some measure of common sense. "And isn't Humperdinck lawfully entitled to marry any single woman he wants, in Florin?"

Westley lifted his chin. "True love waits for true love," he said simply, his composure and conviction carrying the point. "True love prevails. Anything less is a travesty and a betrayal."

Nate sighed, conceding. Who was he to argue the integrity of true love? He studied Westley, who in the wake of his declaration looked more forlorn than Nate could ever remember. Time to be a big brother, then. "Well. That leaves you with just one question."

Westley looked at him, curious.

"Are you going to trust true love to prevail?"


	6. The Bearings Breakdown

Parker perched on a huge tree root, peering curiously at the ominous tangle of trunks and vines blocking out the sun, and feeling for bruises. The light rig, currently sitting propped behind her, had caught her shoulder hard when she fell down the ravine. Eliot had checked her over carefully and while a lot of her was sore, nothing was broken; the rig, on the other hand, was looking pretty bent and sorry.

Technically she was watching over the princess while Eliot scouted ahead, but Buttercup was still passed out, lying on the adjacent root where he'd left her, so she wasn't going anywhere. Unfortunately, neither was Parker, as per Eliot's orders.

She inched away from a nearby vine. They draped limply, where she and Eliot had chopped them apart, but even so they were creepy. She was keeping the knife they'd taken from Vizzini unsheathed; the vines had made weird groaning noises when cut, and fallen with a little more wriggle than they should have. It had dampened her interest in climbing, even though the trees and branches were so broad you could practically live in them, and just sitting around wasn't all that fun.

Although she could clearly hear Eliot talking with Hardison over coms, the occasional echo of real sound that filtered back from wherever he was, further in, was oddly reassuring.

Hardison's research didn't seem to be going well. "~ _I'm not finding much. No one seems to know what causes it. Some kind of sulfurous deposit, maybe_.~"

"That's what stinks like farts?" she asked.

Eliot snorted a laugh that became a muffled yelp at a popping, whooshing noise. He offered his opinion. "~ _Whatever it is, it's a pain in the ass_.~"

"~ _The good news is, it's not really that far to the other side. Like four or five miles, and it's contained by the ravine as it widens out. Don't climb any slopes, and you can't get too lost. You'll come out near the channel, down from Florin City_.~"

"~ _Yeah, piece of cake_.~"

The hitter's tone was more sardonic than snarky, and Hardison only laughed in commiseration. "~ _I've got your cell position, so if you get off course, I'll let you know. Maybe we can find a way to pick you up on the other side, I'll ask Nate_.~"

Next to Parker, Buttercup moaned, then flailed awake.

Parker waited for her eyes to focus, then said, "We're in the Fire Swamp, okay? Don't freak out or faint again, got it?"

Buttercup looked from Parker, to her knife, to their dank and smelly surroundings, and nodded carefully.

"~ _She awake?_ ~"

"Yeah."

"~ _Okay. I'm coming back. Stay there_.~"

The moment Eliot came in view, Buttercup straightened, watching with nervous defiance as he came up to her.

He sheathed his sword and crouched in front of her, openly studying her exquisite face. Then he removed his mask, and gave her a tempered smile. "Okay, princess, we're going to try this again. Okay?"

She nodded more in concession than agreement.

Eliot checked his irritation. "If we wanted you dead, there are easier ways than this, you know."

"I do," Buttercup said, and it occurred to Parker that the princess had just spent the last night and day being dragged around by guys intending to kill her. What was it with people not being able to tell the difference?

"I'm not a pirate, and my name is not Roberts," Eliot continued. "We're here to keep you alive, and safe."

"Are you trying to tell me you're the good guys?" she asked dubiously.

Eliot let his amusement show. "Well, that's something up for debate. But good guys or not, we're the only thing that's going to get you through this swamp. Can you trust us that much?"

She looked at them, plainly exhibiting the fright and exhaustion of the last twenty-four hours. She was completely at their mercy and they all knew it.

She nodded again in resignation. "I'm sorry for pushing you," she offered to Parker honestly. "And for making us come this way," she added, to Eliot.

Parker was surprised. "Aw, that's okay." It wasn't often people apologized for trying to kill her. "You didn't know any better," she said comfortingly.

"And we weren't in the strongest position, up there," Eliot said, in turn. "You may have even done us a favor."

She stared this fresh evidence of madness. "We're in the Fire Swamp," she said slowly, clearly wondering if this had somehow escaped his notice.

Eliot shrugged. "True."

She kept staring. "Who are you people?"

He smiled, genuinely this time. "We're friends."

Parker nodded. "The kind of friends you want to have when you're stuck in a Fire Swamp."

* * *

With what was becoming a familiar popping noise, fire belched out of the ground, adding its heat to the clammy air of the swamp. A less-familiar shriek quickly followed, pulling Eliot back in a rush to find Buttercup's skirt alight. Parker had pushed her to the ground, and was dumping scoops of dirt on it. He grabbed the fabric and finished smothering the flame.

"I'm sorry," sobbed Buttercup. "I tried to get out of the way – but –"

"Were you burned?"

She shook her head, and Eliot helped her up onto the low branch she'd been trying to get to, to avoid the fire spurt.

"Rest a bit," he said, as gently as he could, surreptitiously checking for any vines hanging too close.

It didn't take an expert, although he was one, to see that the princess was reaching the end of her emotional, mental, and physical resources. She was shuddering, but silently, and with a pang he realized she was spending energy she didn't have to waste trying to conceal her vulnerability from them.

This was going to be problematic. He was sorry for her misery, but more important right now was that she was not going to make it much further in this kind of state. He couldn't haul her the whole way. This called for some delicate handling.

He shifted next to her and put an arm around her shoulders, rubbing soothingly as he would a child. "It's not your fault. If I had to wear those skirts, I'd have been on fire five times by now."

She gave a little hiccup of laughter, which he'd been aiming for, and then burst into tears and collapsed against him, which he hadn't. On the other hand, the outburst was definitely overdue, so may as well get it done now.

Parker came over and patted her encouragingly. "You're doing really well," she said, with chirpy insincerity. Luckily, Buttercup was too overwrought to notice.

Eliot kept a firm arm around her, waiting for her to cry herself out.

"~ _Eliot?_ ~" It seemed Nate had decided to rejoin the party. Their leader did have a knack for timing.

"Mm?" Eliot answered as quietly as he could.

"~ _We need to ask the princess some things_.~" There was a pause, then, "~ _Is that crying?_ ~"

"~ _Is she alright?_ ~" Westley asked, with what seemed like more concern than he'd intended to feel.

"Gim'minute," Eliot muttered, unwilling to truncate Buttercup's teary catharsis only to have it spill over again at a less convenient time.

Nate didn't question this, which was one of the good things about working with him. "~ _Can you listen while we read you in?_ ~"

Eliot gave another non-verbal assent.

"~ _Okay. Basically, the story here is that, uh, five years ago, Westley and Buttercup were involved_.~"

Eliot was suddenly acutely aware of Buttercup's hands tangled in his shirt, mostly using it as a kleenex. He gave Parker a look which he hoped she'd take to mean, "Don't say a word," and not, "Tell Westley his ex is draped all over me."

She gave him a mystified expression in return, which meant it could break either way.

"~ _Westley left to get some money together, but something happened and she got news he was probably dead. Circumstances meant he couldn't really contact her for a few years, so she doesn't know. What we do next kind of depends on if she still loves him, or if she's moved on, now that she's engaged to Humperdinck. We just ... need to know_.~"

Well, that sure as hell sounded familiar. Eliot's eyes narrowed thoughtfully.

"~ _And, of course, depending on if Humperdinck was the one who arranged to have her killed,_ ~" Nate added, as an afterthought.

Eliot indicated understanding. In a few minutes, when Buttercup's sobbing began to subside, he squeezed her shoulder and pulled back from her a little.

He looked around; time to regroup, and here was as good a place as any. First things first.

"Parker, are you okay to look around for some water? If it's rained recently, there might be some in the hollows of rocks or tree forks, or something. Make sure it's fresh, and, here –" he gave her the bottle they'd taken from Vizzini's picnic, "use this. Get a good drink yourself if you can."

She nodded, shrugged off her rig, and took the bottle from him.

"Just search nearby. If you can't find any, we'll keep moving together. Don't go out of my sight, got it? And keep the knife ready. If something moves, stab it."

"Yeah, got it. Not an idiot," she said pointedly, seeing as how he seemed to need a reminder that the useless chick was the one crying all over him.

"Just – be careful," Eliot said, not rising to the bait.

"~ _Seconded,_ ~" said Hardison, echoed by Nate and Sophie.

Which got Parker out of the way. He turned to the princess, whose sniffling was mostly under control by now, and smiled, trying to figure out how to ask the question, "Which do you want more, the new rich fiancé, or the old back-from-the-dead criminal boyfriend?"


	7. The Reunion Pitch

Buttercup's breathing had steadied. She was looking a little pink and weepy but otherwise still flawlessly beautiful, and generally more stable than anytime since she pushed Parker down the ravine.

Eliot prefaced his interrogation cautiously, not sure if she was ready for this. One meltdown was enough. "Can I ask you something?"

Buttercup nodded, inhaling deeply and sitting up to meet his eyes with something like trust.

"What did you mean, up there? About the Dread Pirate Roberts, and thinking Parker and I – you know –"

"Oh," she said, flushing with embarrassment. "I am terribly sorry about that."

"It's okay," he quickly assured her. "But what did he do?"

Her head drooped, and he braced himself for another round of sobbing, but she surprised him once again. She drew herself up and faced him with all the dignity of a deep, terrible grief that had become quiet and solemn in the passing of years.

"He killed my love."

Eliot found himself staring, captured by the intensity of her beauty and loss. That was, until Nate's impatience jolted him out of it, reminding him of the listening tension he could feel on their coms. "~ _Eliot_ – ~"

He cleared his throat, warning the others to back off. He did not need the demented Greek chorus of Leverage, Inc. in his head right now. "Who was he? Another prince, like Humperdinck?"

She almost laughed, but with no real amusement. "Him?"

Eliot was pretty sure he could give Westley the answer he was looking for right now, but there were some things that a man needed to hear from the woman herself, beyond any doubt. And there were still a few things that could take some unraveling. "You ... don't love him?"

"Of course not." Her scorn at the idea was palpable.

"~ _Or she's not capable of love_ – ~" Westley said, sounding worked up, but Nate hushed him.

"But you're engaged to him."

She shook her head. "It doesn't matter. Nothing does."

He just looked at her, letting his silence give her room to continue.

Buttercup smiled, with the same resignation as when she accepted that he held life or death over her. "Once, I thought I was living in a fairy tale. I was given love, true love ... and I gave true love in return. He was poor." She glanced at Eliot to see if this surprised him, but he only nodded. "A farmboy, poor, and perfect. He had eyes like the sea after a storm...."

Watching her, any censure Eliot might have been tempted to make of her engagement drained away. He just listened.

"Then ... I discovered there is no fairy tale. I live in the real world, where even true love can be lost on the high seas." She bit her lip, and steadied her voice. "He was killed – by the Dread Pirate Roberts – and I lost everything except the breath in my body. I could gladly give even that, too."

She met Eliot's eyes, finding some solace in the understanding he showed in them. "The prince claimed me for marriage. I didn't care. I loved once. I will never love again."

* * *

In the command center, everyone was openly watching Westley, who was completely oblivious to them. He gripped Hardison's chair, white-knuckled, staring at the little yellow circle on the satellite feed as though he could almost see her through the canopy of trees.

Sophie blinked, and wiped away a tear before it could fall. She caught Nate's eye, and smiled to see that even he was moved by the romance unfolding before him. "Eliot ..." he said softly, giving him permission.

Eliot took a breath. "~ _I need to tell you something,_ ~" he said. "~ _This ... might be a shock_.~"

Buttercup sounded unsuspicious. "~ _What is it?_ ~"

Eliot searched for words. "~ _He's alive. Westley. He wasn't killed_.~"

There was a pause. "~ _He's – Westley is – I don't_ – ~"

"~ _He sent us to rescue you. To bring you back to him_.~"

"~ _But – he was attacked by the Dread Pirate Roberts! He never takes prisoners!_ ~"

"He didn't kill me," said Westley, redundantly. He struggled speak, almost overcome, and Nate laid a hand on his shoulder for a moment. "He threatened to, but – I told him about her, her love and beauty, and – so he didn't, not for three years, he made me his valet instead –"

"~ _Yeah_ ...~" said Eliot, and paused. "~ _He can tell you about that when you see him_.~"

"~ _But how can I be sure?_ ~" Buttercup asked with a sob in her voice, as it wavered between hope and fear.

Quietly, Westley said, "Tell her, 'As you wish.'"

"~ _He said to tell you, 'As you wish.' Does that_ – ~"

"~ _Oh,_ ~" Buttercup said, almost inaudibly. "~ _My sweet Westley_....~"

Westley bowed his head, eyes squeezed shut.

"~ _Why didn't you tell me this before?_ ~"

Eliot didn't need help explaining. "~ _He wasn't sure. He thought, maybe, you didn't want to wait for him. Maybe you wanted the new guy. You know ... instead_.~"

"~ _I don't want anyone but Westley! But he was dead!_ ~"

"Death cannot stop true love. All it can do is delay it for a while," said Westley, and the restored conviction in his voice was so strong that it echoed in Eliot's when he repeated it to her.

Then Eliot said, "~ _I promise, I can get you to him. Do you think you can keep going?_ ~"

Wild joy bubbled up through her words. "~ _You tell me Westley is alive and waiting for me, and ask if I can keep going? If you want I could fly!_ ~"

Eliot laughed with what might have been relief. "~ _That ... could be helpful_.~"

Suddenly, a strangled cry rang out across coms, and was abruptly silenced. Before anyone in command could react, they heard Eliot's shout.

"~ _Parker!_ ~"

* * *

Parker immediately spread-eagled her body, to slow her sinking as much as possible. She decided to not panic, at least after that first instant of fright as the sand literally sucked her down into itself.

Eliot would come. She just needed to wait, and not panic. Eliot would come, would find her, and get her out. Somehow.

She hadn't had time to get much air, what with that stupid girly scream which she already felt embarrassed about, and the sand was becoming uncomfortably close around her, getting everywhere, but Eliot would come.

Movement was strange; the sand was pressing in on her, but so fine and slipping that she couldn't get any purchase, and it felt like she was still sinking. All she could hear was the grains filling her ears.

She sheathed the knife by feel, very cautiously. She didn't want to lose it, but she didn't want to stab Eliot, or herself, either. She'd already let go of the bottle; she hadn't found any water anyhow. As she twisted around, she brushed against something more solid, shifting in the sand, then another. Her mind filled with images of other animals, sucked down here to die, nothing but rotting carcasses entombed in bottomless sand.

But Eliot would come. He would. Eliot could do anything, he could do this.

She wasn't running out of air, not yet, but she would soon. Eliot would come, but what if she had already blacked out? What if she was dead? What if he couldn't find her?

She stretched out again – not panicking, of course – to cover the widest possible space. She was losing all sense of direction, but spreading out was still a good idea. She had to help him find her.

She brushed past something else and recoiled, then freaked out when something grabbed her leg. As she thrashed, it let go, then grabbed again and pulled at her.

It felt like a hand. She reached toward it and found it, grabbed at it as it grabbed back. Eliot.

He jerked her toward him and put a line in her hand. Her hand closed over dimensions so familiar it almost made her smile; it was the line from her rig. She didn't need any encouragment to start dragging herself upward.

It was tough, the sand didn't want to let her rise, but she kept going. Hand over hand, endlessly, trusting that it was getting her closer to air and light. A little more. A little more. Until a little more became just a little more than she could do.

She felt herself begin to let go of the line, which was a bad idea, she knew that, but she couldn't seem to help herself. And then suddenly there was a shoulder in her back, an arm under her, moving, pulling, a little more ... and they broke the surface.

Where a cacophany of yelling hit her ear, Nate and Hardison's voices being the most prominent.

Behind her, coughing, Eliot shook sand out of his face. "W're'kay. Shut up," he croaked, then spit more sand out of his mouth.

"Eliot ..." said Buttercup, urgently.

Eliot squinted his eyes open and swore. He heaved them both onto solid ground and left Parker to recover, running to where the princess was using his sword to fend off a rat bigger than she was. As Parker sat up to regain her breath, she noticed several sets of beady eyes high around them, on branches and rocks, circling around potential prey. She scrambled to her feet and drew the knife again, angling to get between them and the princess's back.

The R.O.U.S. attacking Buttercup shifted attention to Eliot, leaping with a hiss at the new threat. Eliot let himself buckle under it, then propelled it further in its leap, landing the thing in the lightning sand. Its squeal lasted less than a second before it disappeared completely into the ground, while the rest of the creatures drew back and scuttled away.

Eliot lay where he was, panting, ignoring the return of voices demanding to know what was going on. In a minute he rolled over and got himself up, half by kneeling and half by holding on to a nearby branch. He patted at his ribs, then his shoulder, where the R.O.U.S.'s claws had scored bloody lines. By his expression, they weren't deep enough to worry him.

"Okay," he said, rubbing sand off his hands and face, managing to not wobble when he let go of the branch. He waved vaguely at the lightning sand. "Nobody go near any more of that freaking stuff."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while since I actually read it, but my description of the experience of the lightning sand owes a lot to the scene in the book.


	8. The Ambush Negotiation

Nate inspected the large, lavish suite overlooking Florin City's main plaza. Sophie had done well.

The _Revenge_ had turned out to be extremely useful – or at least its loot was. Sophie had been able to source nearly everything she needed for her countess, posing as one of the small influx of spare-change nobility arriving for the royal wedding, two weeks hence. Westley had also come through with a reasonable slush fund, at least until Hardison could rustle up some currency. Nate had promised Westley, over his protests, to pay him back.

"No chance you'll be recognized?" Nate asked Sophie, as Hardison fussed over his setup.

She shrugged lazily, inspecting her outfit carefully in the wardrobe mirror. "Among this lot? Doubt it."

"Yeah, well, even so.... Hardison, I want everything you can get on the guest list. This job's already had too many surprises."

The hacker nodded. "I don't get it, though. We got the princess. Why are we still worrying about Humperdinck?"

"Because. If his goal was to go to war with Guilder over her death, then her disappearance is almost as good an excuse. So, we have to find a way to neutralize him. In this economic climate, it'll ruin both countries. I mean, that's our best-case scenario here."

Hardison almost hated to ask. "And the worst-case?"

"Worst-case scenario is that the rest of the EU gets dragged into it, becomes more destabilized financially ... and from there, who knows?"

"Yeah," Hardison said thoughtfully. "Let's not do that."

"~ _Nate, I think we're out,_ ~" said Eliot, matter-of-factly.

Hardison checked his screen and agreed. "Looks like it from here."

"Good." Nate's tone was equally matter-of-fact, not betraying the relief on his face. "Head for the channel. Westley will find you."

"Westley, you're around twenty minutes from their position," said Hardison.

The pirate in the skiff sounded almost as cool and collected as Nate or Eliot, but there was a suggestion of a goofy grin in his voice. "~ _Good_.~"

Then Eliot spoke again. "~ _Wha– Oh, I don't believe this_.~"

His sour exasperation alarmed everyone. "What?" Nate asked him, but Parker answered.

"~ _It's Humperdinck_.~"

* * *

Eliot took in the situation at a glance, and the situation was: not good. What had been the brilliant idea of salvaging some line from Parker's rig, buried in the lightning sand, to tie them all together like mountain climbers now meant that he was tethered to the princess and couldn't attack anyone.

At least Parker had already untied herself before this, and had backed out of the kill zone of the ambush. He and Buttercup, on the other hand, were right in the middle of it.

"Surren–" Prince Humperdinck began peremptorily, interrupted immediately by Count Rugen.

"Aim at the boy!" he shouted, causing a blink of confusion for Eliot, until he remembered that Parker had put on his own mask, after losing hers in the lightning sand. With her loose shirt and men's clothing, it was easy to mistake her for a youth. Unfortunately, the men with the crossbows had not shared his confusion.

"Stay where you are," Rugen ordered Parker, who now had all five arrows aimed at her. "If this man even thinks of moving, or on my order, shoot," the count finished.

Eliot stood very, very still.

"~ _Eliot, what's going on?_ ~"

Sometimes Nate's twitchiness really got on his nerves. He didn't answer. Nate could hear everything that was going down anyway.

Rugen nudged his horse a little closer, attention fixed on Eliot. "I apologize, Highness," he said, "but I know this man. The worst place to aim is – at him."

Nate and Hardison had started to argue about how the hacker couldn't see through a forest to warn them of the ambush, and why he hadn't tracked Humperdinck's movements after the ravine. Rugen's statement, however, cut through all that.

"~ _How far am I?_ ~" Westley asked urgently.

"~ _Too far,_ ~" said Hardison. "~ _Fifteen minutes at least_.~"

"~ _Damn it!_ ~"

"~ _Can you stall for time?_ ~" Nate asked Eliot.

"How?" Eliot answered under his breath.

"~ _Just stall! And don't let them shoot Parker._ ~"

Easy for him to say.

"Untie the princess," Humperdinck said to Eliot, inspecting him with a kind of aloof curiosity.

With emphasized slowness, not wanting to give anyone's trigger finger an excuse to fire, but also knowing there was nothing that would take long enough for Westley to reach them, Eliot turned toward Buttercup. He gritted his teeth. He did not want to face her and acknowledge his failure. Nor could he afford to give any hint to the men watching that he was anything more than her abductor. If the prince or the count suspected Buttercup was no longer an aimless pawn in their hands, it could get very ugly for her.

"I'm sorry," he whispered when he was close enough, taking his sweet time with the knots.

"~ _No!_ ~" Westley shouted.

She didn't answer. Her face was a perfect mask, watching him, impossible to read.

"Pretend nothing's changed," Eliot continued. "It could be dangerous for you."

Whether this made any sense to her seemed almost irrelevant.

Finally, very low, she asked, "He will come for me?"

He met her eyes, and saw the turmoil below her consummate control. He made the promise without a second thought. "We all will. Trust me."

She nodded imperceptibly, walked to Humperdinck on his horse, and let him help her up. When they wheeled and galloped off toward Florin City, she never looked back once.

Eliot watched them go, then looked at Rugen, who smiled.

"Eliot Spencer," said the count, drawling with a pleasure that did not bode well. Eliot set his jaw and said nothing. "If ever a man was to survive the Fire Swamp.... Well. You don't know ... how happy this makes me."

"The boy goes free," said Eliot. "Right now."

"Of course," Rugen said. "Just as soon as you allow one of my men to bind your hands behind you."

"~ _Eliot,_ ~" Parker said, quiet enough to be heard only on coms, but with an insistency that made him turn his head to look at her. "~ _He's got six fingers_.~"

He frowned at her in question, which Nate then voiced. "~ _What?_ ~"

"~ _The guy. The count guy. His right hand has six fingers_.~"

"~ _The man the swordsman was talking about, who killed his father,_ ~" Westley filled in for her, his fury at the thwarted reunion evident only by the sheer force of control in his voice.

Now that she mentioned it, Eliot did recall something about that, although mostly what he remembered was dangling hundreds of feet over nothing but air, being painfully pulled to the top in a harness that was too small for him. Pity, since he could have told the guy – Inigo, was it? – who to look for. Which, depending on how ballistic Inigo was about killing Rugen, might even have saved them this whole mess.

He sighed. Somehow, things just never went that smooth for them.

"~ _Uh. Well ... spotted, Parker,_ ~" said Nate. "~ _Eliot, I take it this is going to be ... bad_.~"

"Mm-hm," Eliot murmured affirmatively, covering it with a grunt when one of the guards wrenched his hands behind him. However backward the country of Florin was, they'd mastered the technology of knots pretty well.

Once he was secured, he jerked his head in Parker's direction. "Let him go."

Rugen hesitated for a moment, raking his eyes over Parker in a way that set Eliot's teeth on edge. Then he waved dismissively. "Of course. I am a man of my word."

* * *

Parker turned and ran, not stopping until she was safe inside the Fire Swamp. She hated that she was shaking, and she was going to stop it real soon, but ... that was a bad man. Bad through and through, wearing his wrongness with a smile.

She could still hear his lying voice over coms, acting like he was Eliot's friend. The sound of it was shuddering up and down her spine. She almost wanted to take her earbud out.

"~ _I can't imagine how you got caught up in our little matter here ... but I am so glad you found your way back to Florin at last_.~"

Eliot, naturally, was staying silent. Talking never got you anywhere with this kind of man.

She climbed instinctively, getting high up enough in time to see Rugen bring the butt of his sword down on Eliot's skull.

She was still shaking, but it had become anger, and that was fine with her. She would happily claw Rugen's face off right now if she could, and if she ever saw Inigo again, she would break him into Rugen's house, anytime of day or night, to do whatever he liked.

"Rugen knocked him out cold. You got him, Hardison?" she asked, as the guards manhandled Eliot onto Rugen's horse.

"~ _Tracking his cell as we speak,_ ~" Hardison said.

Rugen trotted away. He was surrounded by Humperdinck's guards, or she would have been tempted to just try jumping him with the knife. "Nate – we have to get him back. Rugen wants to hurt him."

"~ _I know, Parker. We will_.~"

Parker didn't think Nate really understood. She had to make him see. "No, I mean, really wants to hurt him.... Really, really hurt him."

There was a silence, and then Nate said soberly, "~ _Okay, Parker. We're not going to let anything happen to him. To either of them. We're going to get them both back, I promise_.~"


	9. The Deadly Device

His ear was fizzing. That was not normal, waking up from being knocked out. This was something he knew.

The pounding headache and wooziness was normal, though, and Eliot spent a while just appreciating lying still. He worked out pretty quickly that he was on a wide wooden bench, and that he was shackled to it very securely, which had never once worked out well for him in the past. However, right now he was horizontal, in a quiet, dim room, with no one in imminent need of rescue except maybe himself. That was reason enough to relax and enjoy the moment.

The fizzing in his ear had resolved itself into the intermittent buzz and crackle of a very weak com signal, which meant that no one had found his earbud. Hopefully that meant they hadn't found the cell, either, so that Hardison had followed a nice, clear little dot to his geeky heart's content on his computer screen.

An educated guess said he was in Rugen's Pit of Despair, which he'd only ever heard of in whispers, until now. And there were limits to how much he wanted to be put through the wringer for this job, even if it was for true love's sake. As restful as all this lying down was, some kind of cavalry moment would be good, and sooner rather than later.

His mouth was distractingly dry.

A creak announced the entrance of someone; he craned his head and watched the weird, pale man with a tray shuffle down the steps to the lower level of the dungeon, to his side. The Albino put the tray down and cocked his head at Eliot.

"You're awake," he said, and it was hard to tell through the moist whisper, but it was possible that he sounded surprised.

"Pit of Despair?" Eliot voiced his guess.

The Albino raised his eyebrows, then grinned, which unfortunately drew attention to the generous scabs encrusting his mouth. Eliot tried not to stare.

"Don't even think –" The man started sputtering and coughing, then hacked his way to a clearer throat. "Don't even think of trying to escape. The chains are far too thick. And don't dream of being rescued, either. Only the Prince, the Count –"

"Yeah, good. Listen, man, I don't usually give this kind of advice, but do you think, maybe, vitamin supplements...?"

The Albino looked a little derailed. "Tried those. But then the Count said I didn't look suitable for the job anymore."

That figured. And the Count's early retirement package probably wasn't very attractive. "Condolences, then. I guess."

The Albino gave an amiable shrug. "The hours are okay. I like the work."

"Right...." Eliot didn't bother dwelling on that. "Is that water?"

"Juice." The Albino fetched the tray, and held it so Eliot could drink. Then he set about cleaning out the gouges left by the R.O.U.S.'s claws, tutting occasionally.

Eliot made another guess. "Rugen wants me fixed up before breaking me?"

The Albino nodded. "He insists on it. So he can kill you properly."

Eliot followed the direction of the Albino's look. A great hulking contraption lurked to one side of the room, seeming to suck the very light out of the air.

"Nice," Eliot said, unenthusiastically. At least he had a day or two before they got this show on the road.

The Albino smiled dotingly at it. "The Machine. No one withstands it – Vizzini didn't last hardly any time at all." He was clearly disappointed. "You were the one who left him for them to find, weren't you? He didn't expect his contract to work out that way, I can tell you that much."

He snickered, and then looked Eliot over speculatively, visibly cataloguing the wounds, burns, bruises, and wrenched joints the hitter had sustained in the last day without ever slowing down. "The Count says you'll go longer," he said, anticipation gleaming in his eyes.

Eliot almost rolled his eyes. "Wow. Rugen sure picks up some class-act twisted scumbags."

The Albino only smirked. "Yes, well – he hired you once, didn't he?"

* * *

Somewhere above, not very far from Eliot, Parker was getting frustrated. "It's a forest, Hardison! Dirt and trees!"

"~ _There's got to be something. The signal dropped out right around where you are. Is there a ... trapdoor or something?_ ~"

"I don't know, why don't you check the floor plan?" Forests were not Parker's forte. No one stored art or jewelry in them. At least the full moon provided enough illumination that she didn't have to use a flashlight, something which anyone watching tended to notice in a dark environment. She pressed the heel of her palm to her forehead. It had been a long day.

"~ _Uh_....~" Hardison paused, trying to figure out if she was being sarcastic. She'd been tense and snippy ever since Westley picked her up from the Fire Swamp, not that Hardison blamed her. That Rugen dude kept a very low profile, but the scraps Hardison had managed to dig up were not appealing. "~ _Maybe we should leave this for the morning_ ,~" he said as soothingly as he could, knowing she wouldn't go for it.

"Wait a minute," she said suddenly, catching a faint sound. She hid – forests were good for cover, she'd learned – and peered around, to see a portion of a nearby tree swing inward. "Oh. Found it."

The man who came out was shaggy and sickly pale in the moonlight, humming quietly to himself, and generally suggested janitor or caretaker, rather than guard. To Parker, who had an eye for these things, his demeanor said he was done for the night and going home.

She waited for him to leave, then went and inspected the trunk. "This is new," she observed.

"~ _What?_ ~"

"I've never broken into a tree before. Hang on ... yeah, that.... Just one knot?" She was mildly astonished. Not even a combination of them, or special timing to press, or anything.

"~ _I guess they thought a tree in the middle of a forest was security enough_.~"

"Standards," Parker muttered. She pulled out her flashlight, on its dimmest setting designed to preserve nightvision as much as possible, and started down the narrow steps. After a few turns, it straightened out, and Hardison stopped her.

"~ _I'm beginning to lose you. Got the signal booster?_ ~"

She pulled it out and flicked it on for an answer, then found a place to hide it inside the jags of the tunnel wall. "How's that?"

"~ _Parker?_ ~"

"Eliot!"

"~ _Hey man, how're you doing? Still got all your fingers and toes and manly bits?_ ~"

Eliot thought about this. "~ _Is Nate on?_ ~"

"~ _I'm here. Welcome back. Are you okay? What have we got?_ ~"

Eliot quickly filled Nate in. Meanwhile, Parker made her way through the passage to a thick door, which made her happy by being locked, although not for very long. It swung open to a cavernous room, lit by a few of the huge number of candles set around it. On the lower part of the floor, Eliot was lying on a cart with half his clothes off.

She eyed the room, circling it slowly. Eliot held up his wrists at her, as much as he could, anyway, to bring attention to the manacles around them.

"Could we get on with the rescue?" he asked pointedly.

Nate spoke up on that one. "~ _Yeah, um. No, actually_.~"

"Excuse me?"

"~ _Look, if you escape, they're going to know you've got help, and you're still in play. We don't need these guys distracted by the idea that you're running around with a grudge_.~"

Eliot took a breath, and counted at least partway to ten. "So, what – you're just going to leave me here with the guys who want to torture me to death, so we don't upset them? Because in case you were wondering, Nate, being tortured is not that fun. For that matter, neither's dying."

"~ _Yeah, okay, but big picture, here. You said it yourself, we have at least a couple of days while they heal you up_.~"

"~ _I don't know about this, Nate,_ ~" Sophie joined in quietly. "~ _What if you're wrong?_ ~"

Parker jumped down from where she had fixed Hardison's spy cam to the wall. "Then they'll kill Eliot to death," she said helpfully.

* * *

Nate, who was lurking discreetly at a pre-wedding function at the castle and keeping an eye on Rugen, shifted uncomfortably. "Guys, it's not like I'm happy about the risk, but we don't have many options. We need some breathing space here. We've got eyes and ears down there, now, for Hardison, and we'll keep Rugen under surveillance.... We won't let Eliot be, uh, hurt, or anything. Trust me, we'll have him out before you know it."

"~ _So what's the game, then?_ ~" Eliot asked, with understandable personal interest.

"Well, okay, so we need to get Buttercup away from Humperdinck, but in such a way that he can't then say Guilder had anything to do with it. And the easiest way to do that is to make it his idea, right?" Nate looked over to where Sophie was mingling and charming her way through the room, toward Humperdinck and Buttercup. "What do you think?"

"~ _Not a problem,_ ~" she said easily.

Eliot made sure he was tracking. "~ _Are you – you're going to make him fall in love with you, and, what, call off the wedding?_ ~"

Nate corrected him. "Mm, no, not just call off the wedding. We have to make sure he can't make any claim on Buttercup or her disappearance.... He's going to publicly announce he's marrying Sophie instead."

"~ _In the time we have?_ ~" Eliot sounded doubtful.

"~ _Eliot,_ ~" Sophie purred, turning his name into a one-word sucker punch of playful chiding and sultry suggestion. "~ _You doubt me?_ ~"

The silence over coms was eloquent.

Nate grinned. "Okay, guys. Let's go steal us an engagement."


	10. The Lady Lure

Sophie let a sweet, yet enigmatic smile seep into her lips and made her approach, rolling the taste of the accent in her mouth. She gave Humperdinck an elegant curtsy, and her hand. "Your Highness, may I introduce myself? Lady Helene, of Macedonia."

The prince, who had been looking arrogant and bored, seemed startled by the hand in his. He met her eyes and returned her smile, already intrigued, then raised her hand to his lips. He didn't relinquish it when she continued speaking.

"Your mother and mine were old friends; I heard many stories of their time together at –"

"~ _She went to the 'Institut Villa Mont –'_ ~" Hardison began.

"– Mont Choisi, of course," Sophie said smoothly. "Such a shame when it closed. No finishing school like it, any more." She glanced at Buttercup and let her smile slide toward gentle, condescending fondness. "Such a shame. But I have distracted myself!"

She turned laughing eyes back to Humperdinck, and felt his hand tighten around hers involuntarily. "Because of the affection of our mothers, I felt I could take the liberty of offering myself as a help to your lovely betrothed, to prepare for her wedding day, and her duties as your wife and eventual queen."

"Oh," said Humperdinck, startled. "Well –"

"I need no help," said Buttercup firmly. Until now, she had been observing Sophie, her fiancé, and the room with equal parts disinterest and inner potency, as though her life existed powerfully but wholly absent from her current circumstances.

Sophie made sure she had Buttercup's eye before responding. "Of course, Highness.... As you wish," she said, and gave the princess a moment for the words to register. When they did, she added, "I only hoped to alleviate some anxieties, smooth the way. This time can be difficult for any young bride, let alone one marrying the crown prince of an influential country."

Buttercup was suddenly vitally present, and Sophie discovered, to her surprise, that the impact of the girl's beauty surprised even her.

"Oh ... yes. Perhaps you are right," Buttercup said, her cool composure barely containing the new glow from within.

Sophie flicked a glance at Humperdinck, who, watching her over their clasped hands, had barely noticed the change in his bride-to-be. Her look both begged permission and demanded it of him, and she added a leavening of intimacy to her smile. "Then it is settled....?"

"Of course. Anything my darling desires," he said, the words almost automatic; the cocking of his eyebrow toward her decidedly not.

Sophie held it for a long beat, letting the rapport grow, before she let a tiny widening of her eyes and falter in her smile conclude it with the impression that she had found something she did not expect in their connection. Hastily, as though suddenly remembering he held it, she withdrew her hand, allowing her thumb the slightest unintentional caress as she did so.

A touch of breathlessness completed the effect. "Then ... we shall retire, if Your Highness permits. We have little time, and it is best to begin as soon as we may." She turned to Buttercup, who was only too eager to leave the room with her, and waited until they'd actually exited before permitting herself a satisfied sigh.

"~ _Damn,_ ~" said Hardison appreciatively. "~ _Is he hooked?_ ~"

"~ _He's still staring,_ ~" Nate said, amused.

"He's a hunter. He'll chase," Sophie said confidently. "It's awfully unsporting, I know, but sometimes it's just plain fun." She didn't bother to pretend she hadn't enjoyed that thoroughly.

"Who are you speaking to?" asked Buttercup. "Who are you?"

Sophie gave the girl a genuine smile. "For now it's best if you just know me as Helene. Can we go to your chambers? We have a lot to talk about."

* * *

Hardison was willing to bet that if Westley weren't currently crippled, he'd be pacing a hole in the carpet. Since he couldn't, he was staring out the open window, mostly concealed by the frame and curtains moving in the warm night breeze.

Hardison was trying to ignore the burning silence from that corner of the room; he was configuring the optimum placement of their remaining cams in the castle for Parker, working up a few reports implying Guilder's relative ability to wage a war was better than it actually was, running diagnositic analyses of Humperdinck's spy net to find the quickest way to get the disinformation to him, and occasionally amusing himself with checking in on the feed of Eliot, strapped down and pissed off. Between those and the gajillion other things the rest of the team seemed to think happened by themselves, he didn't have a lot of time to worry about their client's discontent.

Nate came through the door, with the kind of smile he usually wore when a plan was kicking into motion. His brother glanced at him, then looked back out, but it was enough to pull Nate over.

"What?" Nate asked gently, a conspicuous hallmark of the way he dealt with his brother, against his usual brusque style of communication. With rare self-preservation, Hardison hadn't yet commented on this.

Westley didn't answer straight away, but gave a grudging sigh when Nate prompted him again.

"I want to see her, Nathan," he said, tamped-down frustration straining his voice. "All I can think of is walking in, taking her hand, and getting her away from that place. From that man."

"We can't –"

Westley gave him a withering look. "I know that." He thought about it. "At least, I know your reasoning. That doesn't mean I agree."

Nate was shocked by this, although he shouldn't be, as far as Hardison was concerned. "Westley, if we give Humperdinck any excuse to –"

He cut him off again. "Yes. War. Terrible." He faced him fully. "Tragedies happen every day, Nathan. Cataclysms, every other month. You think you can prevent them all?"

Nate stared at him. "Are you suggesting we don't even try, when it's right in front of us?"

Westley slumped a little. "No," he said eventually. "You should. I suppose. It's just.... I've spent five years on the most dangerous pirate ship in these seas. I wasn't a pirate proper, for those years when we killed everyone in our path, but ... I was close enough. And although I do what I can, as captain, we're still a long way from innocent.... The truth is, I just don't really care that much about anyone in these stupid, piddling countries but Buttercup." He looked Nate in the eye, lacking any apparent remorse. "I'm not the good guy here, Nathan."

Nate had on his blank face of surprise, so Hardison couldn't tell exactly how hard Westley's measured explanation was hitting him. Just that it was.

He didn't really see the problem, himself. Westley's priorities were completely understandable, and pirates, much like thieves, were not known for their altruism – dirty-rich-and-reformed thieves excepted. He wondered just how much Nate had been deluding himself about his baby brother's career as a professional bad guy.

Nate strove for some kind of bottom line. "Look. When you called us in, you agreed I'd call the shots. That's the only way this works."

"Yes. I agreed. I can still hate it." Westley raised his eyebrows. "If Maggie had been in this kind of situation, how would you like having any other man in charge?"

Nate granted him this. "I'd ... take over."

Westley's smile thanked him for not trying to pretend otherwise, and he nodded. "This – all of this – is just wrong. She's mine to rescue. Otherwise what are we? If my love can't rescue her when she needs it – if her love can't depend on me to – then what worth is it? It's a fairly shoddy love that does not act upon itself. It's not love at all, or anything more than a warm and intoxicating feeling."

Hardison had given up paying attention to anything else. "Hey, go easy on yourself, man. You did call us in as soon as you needed to – and she is trusting that –"

Westley acknowledged the attempt, but was not consoled. "Sending somone else to do it for me? That's not me, that's –" he broke off and waved in the direction of the castle, then finished his sentence with a world of contempt, "... him."

Hardison shrugged. "Yeah. Point."

Nate shook his head. "But, on the other hand, anyone could have chased after her today.... Well, any elite, super-fit, highly motivated ... anyway, the point is, just retrieving her doesn't qualify your love as true or not. Maybe in the olden days, that's all you had to do – just charge up, throw the girl across your horse, and ride off – but these days.... I mean, Eliot runs down things all the time, people even. It's got nothing to do with loving them. It's just what he does."

Westley glanced at the screen, where their hitter could be seen trying to get some sleep, considering this. "I'll concede the premise. What's your point?"

"That – life is bigger than that now. That if you want to prove your love, a one-off rescue isn't so important, no matter how impressive it is. I'm saying ... live a whole life worthy of her. Make the world worthy of your love together ... you know, together."

Westley blinked at the passion in Nate, and tried to keep the answering smile off his face, or at least make it a cynical one. He failed.

"How ... idealistic," he said, and he couldn't make that sound as cynical as he wanted, either. "You do dream big, Nathan."

"Nothing else is worth dreaming," Nate said, unabashed.

"Perhaps not," said Westley softly, giving no sign he was off the fence yet, but having lost much of his ire. "So. What happens next?"


	11. The Whirlwind Execution

Humperdinck looked up and smiled as Sophie entered the room, standing courteously and drawing out a chair for her. "Good morning, Lady Helene. Have you broken your fast yet?"

If the breakfast table had been set to impress, it was effective. "Good morning, Your Highness. I have not." She sat, smiling up at him before he returned to his side of the table. "I admit, I did not expect to see you again, so quickly. I had heard you are a man of swift action, but the reality outstrips even the reputation!"

The prince preened without the faintest attempt at false humility. "A man must be decisive, a ruler even more so. Tea?"

"Please."

She watched, genuinely surprised, as he poured her a cup himself. His deliberate, yet casual caress when he handed it to her explained it, though, and she modestly lowered her lashes.

"I wanted to hear how it went, last night. The princess is ... very important to me."

Sophie let him see that she was assessing him, and kept her tone neutral. "She is quite a winning creature. A trifle ... simple, perhaps, but her appeal is undeniable."

"The people are quite taken with her," agreed Humperdinck.

"Ah," she said, with a small smile of understanding, shaded with a hint of disdain. "Well, it's politic, I suppose." She raised her eyebrows delicately. "I imagine it was a heroic pursuit."

He started, guilt on his face. "What do you mean?"

She pretended not to notice. "A woman so beautiful? Only the most ardent and audacious pursuit is fitting, to prove your mettle and win her heart."

He shifted in his seat, looking a little foolish. "Well ... er ... the law of the land gives me the right to choose my bride...."

Sophie registered this with more visible disappointment. "Oh. I see." She thought about it. "Still, she is very beautiful. I suppose that is enough for your subjects."

"They ... what do you mean?"

"Your Highness," she said reprovingly, while effortlessly maintaining the admiration she had carried for him in her eyes since last night. "Your subjects have the greatest hunter in the world as their prince – their king, in not many years, I'm sure."

Humperdinck nodded. "I already do most of the ruling in my father's stead."

She smiled subtly, an expression full of secrets, and watched his intrigue grow. "I am sure you do." She allowed the admiration to show through more, but only enough to sell her sincerity. "You are strong, and clever, and powerful. As beautiful as Buttercup is, she is merely ... a trophy. Don't your people deserve a queen who matches your leadership and vision?" She waited a moment for the impact, then looked at him with something bordering on pity. "Don't you?"

He blinked a few times, clearly touched. "It has been lonely," he admitted. Then he examined her shewdly. "And you?"

She was puzzled. "Me?"

"What are you fishing for?"

She gave him a surprised laugh, and let candor suffuse her response. "I suppose I should have expected that." She kept the amusement until some of his suspicion defused, then shrugged guilelessly. "I just ... know the feeling, that's all."

He now seemed more curious than wary, almost teasing her. "Then you're not trying to leverage something from me?"

She smiled in return, but a hint of world-weariness crept into her answer. "My family is powerful – in many arenas – but my father won't do what it takes to make it everything it could be. We have connections, even allies, everywhere, but he is not bold enough to capitalize on them ... and he lacks a necessary ruthlessness."

She allowed herself to seem momentarily lost in thought, then looked up with a bittersweet smile and an almost-unconscious touch on his hand. "So believe me when I say, Your Highness, I know it is not easy to be an empire-builder."

The prince's answering smile was warm with fellow-feeling. "Helene, please – call me Humperdinck."

* * *

Eliot was pretty much done cataloguing anything around him that could come into play in a fight, escape, or rescue. He shifted, easing stiff muscles as much as he could. Just one of those realities of being strapped to a table that you could never really overcome, along with the inevitability of an itchy nose.

Something he'd never had before, though, was the background chatter of a team dwelling in his ear. He hadn't anticipated how comforting it would be, linked by their voices – not just to the world outside this pit, but to a crew who had his back, who wouldn't let him slip away in the darkness. He never thought he'd be able to sleep with the com in his ear, but last night he'd dozed off much more quickly than he'd ever expected.

Hardison suddenly piped up, sounding alarmed. "~ _Wait – what is he.... Eliot, Rugen's in the tunnel!_ ~"

"What?" he said, careful not to let the Albino hear.

"~ _Rugen! He's on his way down!_ ~"

"~ _What? When did he leave?_ ~" asked Nate. "~ _Parker?_ ~"

"~ _He was talking to Humperdinck, outside the castle. I was planting the spy reports!_ ~"

"~ _Eliot, we're too far_ – ~"

The door banged, making the Albino jump and Eliot miss the rest of what Nate was saying. He was pretty sure he had the gist of it, though.

Rugen stalked over to Eliot, who was once again discovering that his bindings were very, very secure. The count's eyes blazed into him with unaccountable fury, and he decided he hated this. A lot.

What had happened? What did Rugen know? Were they blown?

The adrenaline rampaging through him became harnessed to a single purpose. Whatever was about to happen, however helpless he was to free himself, he had to cover the team. He had to find out as much as he could.

He slammed his game face on, grinning cockily. "You're early to kill me. I'm not all patched up yet."

Rugen slapped him. Hard.

Eliot gave his eyes a second to focus again, then glared back, but was surprised when Rugen turned away from him, striding back and forth. He exchanged glances with the Albino, who looked so frightened that Eliot judged this to be a highly uncharacteristic expression of anger on Rugen's part. Eliot actually began to relax; he knew Rugen enough to be reasonably sure that discovering the team wouldn't produce this kind of reaction. He had to make sure it stayed that way.

A violent clatter interrupted his racing thoughts as Rugen flung things off his desk, then caught sight of Eliot again.

"After all I've done!" he shrieked. "Years of plotting and guiding that ... conceited ... inept ... odious ... popinjay!"

"That's kind of a tautology," said Eliot. "Popinjay means a concei–"

Rugen slapped him again, and Eliot spat blood out of his mouth, grinning in satisfaction. He couldn't go down fighting with his fists, but he had other weapons, and he was damn well going to make Rugen feel it. He distantly perceived the flap of team activity in his ear, but it meant nothing at this point.

Rugen was still ranting mostly to himself. "And now some cow turns up and suddenly he's found his soulmate? Just going to abandon everything we worked for and marry her instead? He thinks he can do better with her?" He was practically screeching by the end.

Eliot was laughing so hard he almost couldn't speak, although one tiny, hidden part of him was bursting with pride and admiration for Sophie's work. "Did you just get dumped? By that dumbass prince? Man ... sucks to be you."

Rugen's eyes narrowed, realization dawning in them, chest heaving as he caught his breath. "You're just trying to get me to kill you now, quickly.... You don't want to be in the Machine." He looked at the thing, then smirked evilly, leaning in closer to hiss, "I don't blame you."

With a crook of his fingers he summoned the Albino. "Hook him up. Immediately." He tilted his head to the side, looking Eliot up and down. "I feel the need to destroy something ... disposable."

Eliot came back at him even as the Albino wheeled him in place. "Like you are?"

Rugen only sneered in return, then stroked the Machine's gauge. "Normally I would never go above five ... even that, I don't know what it would do to you. I would go slowly, eke out your life in excruciating increments.... Take my fussy little notes and itemize you, wasting away."

The Albino was working with the speed and care of long practice. At no point did he give his prisoner the smallest opportunity for escape, Eliot noted, with reluctant recognition of his professionalism. He was already almost finished fixing the suction cups in place.

"Yeah, sounds about right. Just keep playing to your strengths, man, and make sure you never face anyone not tied to a plank, you chickenshi–"

Rugen slapped him one more time, almost casually, then continued. "But you know what? I've kind of always wondered just what going to fifty will do to a man.... And you're such a strong man. Full of life. I'm sure it will be ... indescribable."

Eliot opened his mouth for one last jab, but then sucked in breath when Rugen rammed the gauge as high as he could reach, in a frenzy of fury and glee and satisfaction.

There was a second of water rushing through the device, a ringing silence in which Eliot's entire body arced and strained against unyielding restraints.

Then he started screaming.


	12. The Miracle Fix

The brute squad had been all over the place, swarming the Thieves' Forest since midday. Their sweeps were making it difficult for Parker to scout the area to find where the Albino disposed of bodies. She couldn't stay near the entrance to the Pit and keep watch, either.

From the moment Rugen confirmed Eliot was dead, even Hardison was having trouble keeping her from just suicidally storming the place. Not being able to do anything, after listening to ... it was driving her crazy.

"~ _Uh – Parker? What's going on?_ ~" Hardison had been monitoring the video, to make sure they didn't move him or dump him or do anything else with his body.

"What?" she asked impatiently.

"~ _There are guys in the Pit_.~"

Parker doubled back immediately. "The Albino?"

"~ _No.... I think it's Montoya and Fezzik.... What the hell?_ ~" Hardison asked, completely confused.

"~ _What? What's going on?_ ~" asked Nate.

Caught by Eliot's bud, the voices of the intruders drifted over coms. Fezzik spoke first, low and doleful. "~ _He's dead_.~"

Parker's jaw clenched painfully, and she ran faster.

"~ _Just is not fair_....~" That was Inigo, sounding more disgruntled.

"~ _What?_ ~" Nate asked. "~ _Why would.... What is going on?_ ~"

Hardison was just as dumbfounded as Nate. "~ _I ... do not know_.~"

Back in the Pit, Inigo was still talking. "~– _taken defeat easily. Come along, Fezzik. Bring the body_.~"

"~ _The body?_ ~"

"~ _Have you any money?_ ~"

"~ _I have a little_.~"

"~ _I just hope it's enough to buy a miracle, that's all_.~"

Hardison confirmed what was happening on his screen. "~ _They're taking him_.~"

"~ _Did he say miracle?_ ~" asked Nate, in some perplexion.

Parker arrived at the grove just in time to see the giant emerge, manhandling Eliot's body out of the small opening in the tree and then carelessly slinging it over one arm, where it dangled limply. Inigo followed him out. She raged, wanting to make them put him down. Right now. As painfully as possible. Whatever they thought they were doing with him, she was going to make them think twice.

"Nate, I got them. You want me to...?"

Nate's voice carried the strain they were all feeling. "~ _I ... uh.... Not yet. Follow them. Westley, how mobile are you? Can you go back Parker up?_ ~"

"~ _Of course_.~"

"~ _Okay. Let's find out what they're doing first. Unless they look like they might_....~"

Parker nodded. He didn't have to finish the sentence. Let them just try anything at all....

* * *

Hardison did a double-take on his second screen, which was showing video from the castle, and groaned. "Oh, now what?"

Nate joined him to see Humperdinck and Buttercup, having what looked like an argument. Hardison brought up the audio feed.

"– _married tonight_ ," Humperdinck was saying. " _Tomorrow morning, your men will escort us to Florin Channel, where every ship_ –"

" _No_." It was said simply, but with a finality which gave even Humperdinck pause.

Hardison frowned, still seething. "What the hell is going on? I thought Sophie had him on the hook!"

"~ _I did. I do,_ ~" Sophie insisted. "~ _What is it?_ ~"

"Looks like Humperdinck is trying to marry Buttercup right now," said Nate, grabbing a change of clothes. "See if you can find out why."

Westley joined the general alarm. "~ _He's what?_ ~"

" _I will not ever marry you,_ " Buttercup had said, making Humperdinck go red.

He loomed over her threateningly. " _May I ask why not? You seemed perfectly happy to, yesterday!_ "

"Er, don't worry," said Nate, rushing out the door. "I'm heading over."

Buttercup lifted her chin. " _I was never happy. No one like you could ever make me so!_ "

" _Someone like me?_ "

Hardison had zoomed in on the image, peering at it. "Nate? I think Rugen's there, lurking in the corner."

"~ _Well, that has to mean something. Hardison, can you go back through the audio? Maybe we picked them up talking about it_.~"

Buttercup was not backing down one inch. "– _nothing but a coward, with a heart full of fear_."

Humperdinck snatched her arm, almost purple with rage. " _I would not say such things if I were you!_ "

" _Why not? You can't hurt me. You know nothing of true love or heroism. And when I say you are a coward, that is only because you are the slimiest weakling ever to crawl the earth!_ "

Hardison couldn't help but smile at that. "Wow. Girl's got bite."

"~ _Yes, she does,_ ~" said Westley.

The small triumph of the moment was short-lived. "Yeah ... uh, guys? I think he's – yeah – he's locking her up, in her bedroom."

"~ _What does that mean? Is he still going to try to marry her?_ ~" Nate asked, a little out of breath.

"How am I supposed to know?"

"~ _Just – keep watching him, and find out what he and Rugen talked about. And Sophie_ – ~"

"~ _On it,_ ~" she said.

Hardison started tracking back along the prince's path with the mics, muttering savagely under his breath. "What the _hell_ is going on?"

* * *

At the door of a decently roomy hovel, on the edge of the Thieves' Forest, Inigo and Fezzik were trying to gain entrance.

"We need a miracle. It's very important," Inigo was insisting, to a man who could barely be seen through a small hatch in the door.

"Look, I'm retired," the man said discouragingly. "And besides, why would you want someone the King's stinking son fired? I might kill whoever you wanted me to miracle."

Inigo persisted. "He's already dead," he said reasonably.

The wizened old face registered interest for the first time. "He is, huh? I'll take a look. Bring him in."

Inside, Fezzik laid the body on a workbench, while the other two gathered around it. None of them noticed Parker slip in and hide in the corner, not even Fezzik when he came back to close the door.

The miracle man picked up a wrist and let it fall back to the table, then frowned and looked at the face for the first time. His generous eyebrows shot up in surprise, and he stared at Inigo.

"What –"

With a huge gulp of air, Eliot convulsed and heaved upward, arms flailing. The elderly miracle man leapt with startling speed to support him, seizing a bowl and holding it in front of him. Eliot retched once and spat the remains of some kind of pill into it, then sagged into a sitting position, scrunching his eyes open and closed.

As soon as he had his eyes in order, he squinted at the man helping to hold him up. "Max?"

Inigo, who had jerked back in surprise, was now staring at Miracle Max, open-mouthed. "You truly are amazing!"

Eliot's voice was croaky. "What am I doing here?

Max shrugged, plainly clueless. "How do I know? Your knucklehead friends here thought you were really dead, and brought you to me. You musta sold it very well."

"My friends?" Eliot looked from Fezzik to Inigo, puzzled. "O-kay...."

The next instant was filled with a flashing movement of blond hair across the room, and then Eliot staggering under the full impact of Parker, who threw her arms around him.

"You're okay," she said, in a little strangled voice.

Eliot gave a long ooph, then weakly wrapped his arms around her and hugged back. "Yeah, Parker. I'm okay."

"You were only faking, right?" she asked anxiously, still holding on tight.

Eliot smiled. "Only faking."

She nodded, and drew back, the hurt still haunting her eyes. "I wasn't sure.... It sounded so ... real."

He patted her gently as he released her, pushing back his own old memories. "I know. It had to."

\------  
[Flashback: earlier, in the Pit]

Eliot is saying, "... in case you were wondering, Nate, being tortured is not that fun. For that matter, neither's dying."

"~ _Yeah, okay, but big picture, here. You said it yourself, we have at least a couple of days while they heal you up_.~"

"~ _I don't know about this, Nate,_ ~" Sophie joins in quietly. "~ _What if you're wrong?_ ~"

Parker jumps down from fixing Hardison's spy cam to the wall. "Then they'll kill Eliot to death," she says helpfully.

"~ _Wait! – That's it,_ ~" Nate suddenly says. "~ _We just kill Eliot first ... yeah. Perfect_.~"

Eliot pauses, then seeks clarification. "Killing me is perfect how, exactly?"

Hardison weighs in. "~ _You wouldn't be so cranky all the time, for instance_.~"

Nate carries on with his usual enthusiasm. "~ _Yeah, no – we just fake your death and retrieve you when they dump your body_.~"

"~ _Ah, gotta love the classics,_ ~" says Hardsion whimsically.

"~ _Eliot?_ ~" Nate asks, seeking his assessment.

Eliot sighs; to give their mastermind his due, if he says no, Nate would probably find another solution. Probably. He gives in. "Yeah. If Parker and Hardison can figure out how to sabotage the Machine without Rugen being able to tell, I can make it work. And I know a guy. Miracle Max. He'll have what we need...."  
\-----

Nate broke in. "~ _Eliot, good to have you back. Not to spoil your return to the living or, yeah, anything, but how do you feel about mounting an assault on the castle?_ ~"

Eliot screwed up his face, resisting the full meaning of the words for a second. Then, tiredly, he asked, "What?"

"~ _Yeah, things are kind of moving here. Humperdinck may be trying to marry Buttercup in a little less than half an hour, Sophie's gone to find out why. So all we have to do is get you guys in so we can break up the wedding, steal the princess, make our escape – after we discredit Humperdinck so he can't do anything with it_.~"

"And I kill Count Rugen," said Parker.

Eliot protested, but mildly. "Hey, I'm the one he tortured to death. Sort of."

Inigo cleared his throat, and they turned to see him gesturing emphatically at himself with both hands. "I am the one who needs to avenge my father, murdered these twenty years," he said, in pointed reminder.

Eliot and Parker raised eyebrows at each other, and Parker shrugged, conceding his claim. "Sure."

Eliot didn't seem to have many objections either. "Fair enough."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I tried the sneaky flashback thing; I couldn't torture/kill Eliot _really_ really. I'm sorry I couldn't whump him properly for everyone. But if it helps, there are plenty of amorphous terrible memories that enabled him to know how to fake it very very well. And that's pretty much canon, so yay?


	13. The Marital Accord

Once Max satisfied himself that there were no aftereffects from the pill, Eliot frowned at Inigo. "How did you two find me? And for that matter ... why?"

Inigo nodded happily. "I will explain," he said, then thought better of it and shook his head. "No. There is too much. Let me sum up. Fezzik saw your friend Parker going into the forest, so when he told me of Vizzini's death and the existence of Count Rugen, the six-fingered man, we come to find you, to plan for us, so we can get into the castle to rescue Buttercup and kill Rugen."

"~ _Um, guys, about the killing thing_ ...~" Nate began to say, obviously uncomfortable. "~ _That's not really what we do – uh_ – ~"

"We're not doing it, he is," said Parker firmly, with unanswerable logic, then turned to the others in curiosity. "How did you find the tree?"

"The Albino," said Fezzik. "He was outside it."

A knock on the door revealed Westley, hobbling in to join them. "Humperdinck seems to have done us a favor," he said, after giving Eliot a brisk nod of respect. "He's had the Thieves' Forest emptied, and many of them are hiding among the people. All my men and contacts are scattered among them, ready to spread any rumor we choose."

Max was watching him, or rather his movement, critically. "Let me have a look at that," he said. "On the bench, sonny. Foot up."

Westley was taken aback, but obeyed, and Max started examining it while the conversation continued.

"A favor he may have done, emptying the Thieves' Forest, but he has put thirty men on the castle gate," said Inigo. "Why do you think we need you? At our best, we could never defeat so many."

"Wow, that guy sure is paranoid," said Parker.

"I'm going to need a shirt," said Eliot, and Max gestured absently at a corner.

"Help yourself," he said, then went back to Westley, nodding to himself. "I've seen worse. Valerie!"

A woman, as wrinkled as Max but dainty, with flowers woven into a knot of her otherwise untamed silver hair, appeared from another room. She waved a spoon at him, paying little attention to the small crowd of people in the room. "What? Always with the yelling!" Then she spotted Eliot in the corner, pawing through a drawer. "Eliot! Max said you were in town. So nice to see you, especially since you never write and tell us how you are. How's that girlfriend of yours? Get her back yet?"

Eliot came up with a plain, dark shirt, and grinned indulgently. "Not exactly. It's good to see you too, Valerie. How's life treating you?"

"Oh, you know, can't complain," she said.

"Ha!" Max threw his hands up. "Nothing but complaining!"

"You should talk! Ever since Humperdinck fired you –"

"You promised you'd never say that name!"

"Sir?" Inigo suddenly found himself the center of attention, and shifted awkwardly. "Uh ... we're in a terrible rush."

Max started, then looked around at their audience, and down at Westley's leg. "Right? Yes! Valerie, my things!"

In short order, and unexpectedly harmonious teamwork, they prepared a big knobby pill, holding it out to Westley. "Wait fifteen minutes for full potency," said Max cheerfully. "And go easy on the leg for another hour."

"Don't go in swimming, either," warned Valerie. "At least an hour."

"Yeah, a good hour," Max agreed.

Westley took it, eyeing Max with faint suspicion. He glanced at Eliot, who shrugged and nodded, so he tucked it into his belt. "Thank you."

Max brushed it off. "Don't thank me, sonny, just make Humperdinck suffer!"

Westley endorsed the older man's rancor with a smile. "Oh, we plan to."

Eliot looked around at his small troop and raised an eyebrow at them. "Alright, gang."

There have been more rousing rallying cries in the history of launching offensives, but it had the desired effect. In a small stampede, the band cleared Max's home, Parker and Fezzik both waving back to the couple farewelling them together from the doorway.

"Bye bye, kids!"

"Have fun storming the castle!"

Valerie turned slightly to her husband. "Think it'll work?"

Max thought for a moment, his eyes on Eliot. Then he turned, caught the eye of his wife, and smiled.

* * *

Guided by Hardison, Sophie found Humperdinck in his study, frowning at some papers he was holding. She paused to catch her breath, but kept a dash of agitation.

"Your Highness – Humperdinck," she said, worried. "What has happened?"

He turned and came to meet her, taking her hand in both of his to draw her closer to himself. "Helene," he said, at his most charming, gazing down at her. "I want to ask you something – I know this may seem very sudden, but you know how I am a man of action. In the few days I've known you, I have sensed in you a kindred soul, a vision and mettle that matches my own."

"Oh –" she said, pleased and embarrassed.

"You have opened my eyes – to myself, to my options, to Florin's potential. And to Buttercup's utter inadequacy to walk beside me in this."

Her confusion was visible. "But – I thought – you have announced your wedding tonight! The guests are gathering, the chapel, the clergyman –"

"As with many things in governing, the situation is fluid," he said loftily. "But I feel you will understand that my purpose in marrying Buttercup was not simply to have a consort. I had planned to ... retire her, very quickly, from the position, but in a way that would inspire my people to unite and strive against an old enemy of ours."

Sophie looked at him shrewdly. "I see. Guilder, I presume?"

There was a moment of relief and joy at her quick understanding and tacit acceptance. "Yes...." He glanced back at the papers on the desk, and frowned. "That's what I intended. But I am re-evaluating what is best."

She nodded. "Guilder is putting out feelers on the international stage, building alliances, broadening their strength base.... As useful as a war is to rally a population behind their leader, there might be better ways to strengthen your position...."

He beamed. "My thoughts exactly!" He took her other hand, so that he was holding both in his. "Do you see, Helene? We are two bodies with but one mind and heart!" He looked deeply into her eyes. "What could be more natural than to unite fully? What possible objection could stand against it?"

She returned his look, dazed. "You mean –"

"Marry me, Helene. Be my princess, my queen. Between your family's resources and my country, with our ambition, there is no limit to what we may achieve!"

"But – what of Buttercup?"

He shrugged dismissively. "Only a few hours ago, I thought, perhaps, I could marry her immediately, execute the plan, to bring that momentum into our joining – Rugen tried to convince me that we could go through with my original idea. But I have come to believe that ... may be impracticable."

Hardison added his contribution in her ear. "~ _Yeah, I found the conversation. Rugen brought the pressure this afternoon.... Prince Scuzzball's telling you the truth. Basically_.~" He sounded a little surprised, and impressed.

"I still have her, in reserve," Humperdinck was explaining. "We can decide how to best use her – my people adore her. But marrying her simply won't work." He stopped, and squeezed her hands. "Helene?"

"I –" She dithered. "It's so unexpected!"

"Do you doubt me? Do not worry about the people; they are easily swayed."

The door opening made them both turn, to see Rugen enter, with a pasty-looking redhaired man whose mustache had devoured half his face. Rugen's glower upon seeing Sophie was quickly hidden; his companion merely stared at her, bewildered.

"Ah, Yellin. Report," commanded Humperdinck, getting the mustache man's attention.

"The Thieves' Forest is emptied, Sire. Thirty men guard the castle gate, and I hold the only key," he said, still eyeing Sophie uncertainly.

"Double it. There may be some ... confusion among the people tonight. No one is to enter. I want no interruptions; tell all who comes that tomorrow I will address everyone in the great square." He looked back down at Sophie, whose hands hadn't left his. "Will I have good news ... dearest?"

"~ _Say yes,_ ~" said Nate quickly. "~ _We need to keep control of this. We can't risk Rugen regaining influence over him_.~"

Sophie gazed up at him, a wondering smile breaking across her face. "I ... you are formidable, Your Highness.... Humperdinck. How could I say no?"

"Sire –" Rugen began, but abandoned the effort as fruitless the moment Humperdinck turned to him.

"Rugen, congratulate me!" He drew Sophie against him. "I am the happiest man alive! Make sure the clergyman is ready, and tell the guests in the chapel the wedding will soon begin!"

Sophie pulled back, eyes wide. "What?"

"My darling, we must seize the moment. Expectations are high; if we postpone, we lose all our advantage to shape the people's reaction. You look exquisite; a few little additions – a crown – and you will be the perfect bride. Months of planning could not buy us a more perfect moment to capture public feeling. We must be swift! Can you do that for me, beloved?"

"~ _Er, um, just ... go with it,_ ~" said Nate hurriedly. "~ _And ... stall. I got this under control. We can make it work. It'll be okay_.~"

"I ... oh, Humperdinck, of course I can," she said radiantly. "But I do want to be perfect. Can you give me a little longer to prepare myself?"

He looked torn. "Our guests are waiting.... Dearest, you already look the most glorious bride in the land. I have no desire to wait, do you?"

"Of course not," she assured him helplessly.

He glowed. "Ten minutes, then. And we shall be wed!"


	14. The Incursion Bait

Night had fallen swiftly, and the five figures on the wall crouched in the dark, peering down at the front gate and the men guarding it.

"There's more than thirty," said Fezzik doubtfully, to Inigo.

Inigo shrugged, nodding at the others. "What's the difference? We've got them."

Parker noticed Westley pulling out the pill.

"Has it been fifteen minutes?" she asked.

He grimaced fatalistically. "We can't wait. The wedding starts in ten." He swallowed with difficulty, making a face. After a moment he frowned, working his ankle back and forth. Then his face cleared with pleasure as he set aside his crutches, and put his full weight on the leg.

"That's wonderful," said Fezzik encouragingly.

"I've always been a quick healer," he said, jogging in place a little, showing with a twist of his mouth when it became uncomfortable. "Not bad."

"Sixty," said Eliot, half to himself, giving the count on the gate. "Hardison, where're we at?"

"~ _Humperdinck's already in the chapel, and Sophie's on her way. They're about to start_.~"

"Okay. Inside, Westley, you and Fezzik get Buttercup to the chapel, no matter what. Parker, I need you to secure us a backdoor. Inigo, I'm not going to stop you going after Rugen, but you're on your own."

Inigo nodded, unconcerned.

"Good. Everyone follow my lead. And do not draw weapons unless I say."

Fezzik and Inigo stuck their hands into the center of the circle enthusiastically, quickly joined by Parker, then Westley and finally, with a huff, Eliot. They shook and broke, and Fezzik smiled around at them warmly. "I hope we win."

* * *

At the chapel, the doors opened dramatically, revealing Sophie to the staring and whispering throng in the pews. Chin raised, her regal look traveled the entire room, which slowly fell into an awed hush even before the organ music began her walk down the aisle. Arriving between Rugen and the mumblingly confused monarchs to stand beside Humperdinck, she found Nate's eye for just a second. Her little secret smile as they knelt solemnly was entirely due to his dazzled expression.

When the organ music concluded, everyone in the entire hall stood, and Nate stepped forward. He composed his very imposing robes and regalia with great dignity, put his hands together, and surveyed the hall.

"Marriage," he said heavily, drawing the word out somberly, throwing in a substantial speech impediment for good measure. "Marriage ... is what brings us ... together ... today."

Sophie kept her head lowered, eyes on his shoes, actually needing to bite her lip in an effort not to grin.

"Marriage.... That blessed arrangement...."

From somewhere outside the walls came a commotion of indistinct shouts, and the corner of Nate's mouth quirked up as he continued ponderously on. "That dream, within a dream...."

* * *

Eliot marched up to the crowd of men, radiating command, flanked by the rest of the group. His stride didn't slow as he reached the front line, nor did he show any aggression; just the inexorable expectation that, whatever happened, he would continue walking forward. After a second's confusion, the armed men gave way before him.

"You Yellin?" he demanded of the man who the squad's movement had opened way to. "You're in charge here?"

"What – yes, I'm – what's the meaning of –"

"My team and I have reason to believe that a terrorist group under the leadership of one Dread Pirate Roberts have planned an attack against Florin Castle for tonight."

Yellin stared, eyes flickering from Eliot to the giant over his shoulder, to Inigo, Westley, and Parker, each one exuding intimidation, and varying levels of discipline, in their stance.

"My spy network has heard no such news," he said tremulously, then paled further at Eliot's expression.

"Then you need a new network," he said scathingly. He flipped his wallet open and shut, just enough to give a glimpse of a badge. "International Anti-Terror Task Force. What is this, some kind of brute squad? I need your men. And my people need access to this castle, right now."

"But –"

"You're Humperdinck's security man, yes? You want to face him after you let him be blown to pieces on his wedding night?"

Yellin shook his head desperately. "But I need some men here to guard the gate!"

Eliot snorted. "Believe me, this gate is the last place that'll be attacked tonight." He looked over the motley squad consideringly. "Alright. You can keep twelve."

He turned and gestured crisply at the men, who had gathered around to watch the exchange. "You men, with me. The terrorists are hiding in the heart of the Thieves' Forest, which you all very helpfully cleared out for them. We go in, spread out, contain the area, and search it, section by section. They're armed and may even be ready to make suicide strikes, so if you see anyone, attack first!" He gave them a moment, then snapped, "What are you waiting for? A man coming at you on fire? Move it!"

As he followed them out, almost running, he turned back to Yellin, frozen on the spot. "Open that gate!"

Yellin fumbled for the key, unlocked the gate to let the other four through, then locked it again. He nodded with nervous authority at the remaining guards. "Stand your ground, men. Um. Just ... stand your ground."

* * *

Inside the castle, Parker immediately disappeared down a corridor. The remaining three made their way further in, slowing when they came to an intersection of several doors and passages. They looked at them, then at one another.

"Hardison? Can you direct me?" asked Westley.

"~ _Where are you? I don't have you on camera_.~"

Westley described their position while Inigo fidgeted and Fezzik surveyed their options thoughtfully.

"~ _Okay, yeah, a door on your left should open to a stairwell. That should put you in the wing her bedroom is in_.~"

They started trying the doors on their left, Fezzik giving a few of them some extra help with opening, until they found the stairs. Westley took a step, but was arrested by Inigo plucking at his arm.

He didn't need to explain why. Westley nodded at him. "And Rugen?" he asked Hardison.

"~ _In the chapel. We could do with a distraction, draw him out of there_.~"

"~ _Got it,_ ~" said Eliot. "~ _I'm on my way back in_.~"

"~ _Er, what about the rest of the brute squad?_ ~" asked Hardison.

"~ _Ditched them already. They'll be wandering around that forest half the night before anyone figures it out, fighting each other if we're lucky. Ain't hired for their brains_.~"

"Couldn't Inigo draw Rugen out himself?" Westley asked.

"~ _You trust that hothead not to just charge in and slaughter Rugen in the chapel? Tell him to wait for me. I'll be five minutes_.~"

* * *

As Eliot walked up to the gate the second time, Yellin's jumpiness had increased markedly.

"Alright, the raid is underway, but I need –" Eliot began, but Yellin interrupted him.

"The men told me that your giant was on the brute squad – and that one of your swordsmen was a drunk Spaniard, who gave us significant trouble when we were clearing the forest," he said accusingly. "What is going on here? Who are you really?"

Eliot barely blinked. "Of course he was giving you trouble, he was stationed there on my orders! We've been working this case undercover for weeks!"

Yellin, almost vibrating with overwrought suspicion, was far from convinced. "I could lose my job – a lot more than that – I already let those people.... Let me see your badge again!"

Eliot pushed his hair back exasperatedly. "You know what? Don't have time for this."

Yellin sneered, and said, "Well –"

Which was when his mouth was interrupted by Eliot's fist.

* * *

The shouts and cries of pain were muffled but unmistakable to all in the chapel, making Nate falter in his delivery.

"Er ... then love, uh, true love, will follow you ... forever ..." he said, flinching at a particularly sharp scream, and frowning questioningly at Humperdinck.

Humperdinck turned and gave a curt nod to Rugen, who immediately exited the chapel, four guards falling in behind him at a click of his fingers. Of everyone present, only Sophie caught the twinkle of pleasure that a successful prod always brought to Nate's eye.

* * *

Hardison gave the update helpfully. "~ _Eliot, Rugen's out of the chapel_.~"

Eliot grunted in acknowledgement, ducked a wildly swung axe, grabbed the arm which held it and tugged, using the man's momentum to smash him into another. It helped that neither man wore a helmet, increasing the effectiveness of their heads colliding.

He snatched the axe as it fell and cracked the butt of it into the face of another man, who did have a helmet on. He didn't wait to watch him go down but turned, stamping on the leg of the last man still standing, breaking it cleanly, then punched him to finish him off.

Yellin was crawling for the portcullis mechanism, but couldn't release it before Eliot straightened, flipped the axe in his hands and stepped inside the range, severing the rope himself. He dragged Yellin in next to him as it crashed down, safely sealing them both in the recess in front of the gate.

Eliot pulled him up. "Give me the gate key."

Yellin made a valiant attempt at temporizing. "Er ... I dropped it –"

"I will tear your arms off," Eliot snarled, thoroughly out of patience.

"Oh, you mean this gate key," Yellin said hurriedly, holding it up, and being punched out for his trouble.

"Freaking castles," said Eliot under his breath, flicking his hair out of his face as he unlocked the gate. He took Yellin's sword off him, then left him there, locking the gate behind himself. "Nate, I'm in."


	15. The Disclose Gambit

Westley and Fezzik reached the end of a corridor.

"~ _That's it, you're at her door,_ ~" said Hardison.

Westley smacked his palm against the wood. "Buttercup!"

There was a second of silence, then a wild cry of response from the other side. "Westley? Westley!"

"Stand back from the door," he told her urgently, and gestured at Fezzik.

The giant lumbered forward and felled the thick door in one blow. Before the crash settled, Westley had darted through the open doorway and caught an armful of princess coming the other way. It was impossible to tell if they were laughing or crying, dancing or twirling, but Fezzik could see they were very happy about it all.

"Oh, you're alive – you're here – you came for me!" Buttercup said exultantly as soon as she could draw a real breath, hands roaming his face.

Without a word, still clasping her to him so that her feet barely touched the ground, he kissed her long and fiercely. She returned it just as eagerly, but he slowly gentled it before drawing back a little. "I'm sorry I doubted you," he said softly, unable to look away from the radiance in her eyes.

Buttercup pressed her lips to his again with an aching tenderness. "I'm sorry I doubted you," she said back. "Never again."

Westley met her vow for vow. "There will never be a need," he said, and very reluctantly set her down. "Are you ready?"

She straightened, chin lifted. "For anything."

He caressed her cheek one last time and took her hand. Then Buttercup caught sight of Fezzik by the door, fiddling awkwardly with his shirt, and recoiled, looking from him to Westley.

"Oh – yes – Fezzik's helping us now," said Westley in offhand explanation.

"Oh.... I see," she said, then gave a puzzled smile. "Well, alright."

Fezzik's worried expression cleared, and he smiled back. "Hello, lady," he said cheerfully.

"Nathan, we're on our way," said Westley, and the three of them headed for the chapel.

* * *

Eliot looked around the choices of corridors, considering where to go next, when he heard the distant, unmistakeable scuffle of a fight taking place. Even as he listened, it died away, and he ran after the memory of the sound. Two corridors away he came across the corpses of four neatly dispatched guards, clearly the work of Inigo's sword, but no one else in sight.

"Hardison, have you got Inigo –" he started to ask, when a desperate shriek echoed back to him, and he took off in its direction.

He rounded a corner to find Inigo repeatedly throwing himself at a heavy door, trying to break it down, yelling like a crazy man that Rugen was getting away from him.

He reached out to catch Inigo mid-tilt, bracing himself hard to not be pulled off-balance by the man's momentum. For a second Inigo looked as though he would attack Eliot too, but then recognition dawned.

"He went through there – he's getting away –" he said frantically.

"Okay, okay. Together, on three," said Eliot. "One, two, three –"

The two men barged the door, which gave a little.

"Again," said Inigo, and they did, twice, but it held. "Again!" he shouted, priming himself, but then Eliot grabbed him and shook his head.

Inigo slapped his hand away. "My father's murderer –"

Eliot looked pointedly over his shoulder, and Inigo turned to see Parker running up to them. "We know," he said, as she crouched in front of the door's lock.

She made a sound of frustration. "You've jammed the mechanism against itself –"

Eliot frowned. "Well, can you –"

"Ha!" she said in satisfaction, standing back as the door swung open. "Would have taken three seconds otherwise," she explained out of professional pride, while Inigo dove through it.

Eliot looked back at her. "Weren't you supposed to be finding us a quick exit, in case this all goes south?"

"I am." Parker's response was hard and unapologetic. "But I heard what was happening, and that son of a bitch is not getting away from what he deserves."

"He won't, I promise. But we need you focused, okay?"

As soon as she nodded, however reluctantly, he sprinted after Inigo.

"~ _You find any more locked doors, I'm coming,_ ~" she said, getting in the last word. "~ _So don't use your head as a battering ram next time_.~"

Eliot didn't waste a breath on a reply, chasing after Inigo and Rugen's path almost by instinct. Down a spiral stair, toward the open door of a huge dining hall, when he heard a crash. He hugged the wall and snuck to the doorway, in time to glimpse Inigo sliding down the wall on the other side, a knife and a blossom of blood in his stomach.

"Sorry, Father," the Spaniard said dazedly. "I tried.... I tried...."

Eliot closed his eyes for a moment, mouth drawn in pain as much as Inigo's was.

Unseen, further inside the room, Rugen voiced his realization with cruel amusement. "You must be that little Spanish brat I taught a lesson to all those years ago. It's simply incredible – have you been chasing me your whole life only to fail now? I think that's the worst thing I've ever heard.... How marvelous."

Eliot's mouth firmed. He strode through the doorway, down the few steps into the room, taking a great deal of pleasure from the look on Rugen's face.

Holding the count's wide eyes with a promise in his own, Eliot reached for Yellin's sword, and, very deliberately, drew it.

* * *

Nate droned happily on to the bored audience in the hall. "... So, treasure your love.... On that subject, Humperdinck – can I call you Hump? – perhaps you can take this opportunity to explain to us all why you had your previous fiancée kidnapped, and tried to have her killed?"

Like a wave of attention and whispers washing through the hall, people suddenly stood straighter and even began craning to see the front. Those with a clear eyeline were able to witness Humperdinck going deeply purple.

"I don't have any idea what you are talking about," he said haughtily, with a surreptitious scan of the room, full of open eyes and mouths turned in his direction. It was also empty of his guards, who he'd all sent with Rugen. He drew himself up. "Who are you? What have you done with the other clergyman? What is this plot to malign me on my wedding day?"

"You're saying you don't know anything about the Sicilian, Vizzini, hired to use the princess in an attempt to start a war with Guilder? Oh, but there's no direct evidence linking you to him, is there? You made sure of that, when you killed him and dumped the body."

Humperdinck maintained a regal composure. "Somebody call the guards!"

There was a stir in the back, but before anyone could obey, the doors pounded violently open. The momentary hope in Humperdinck's eyes turned to horror at the sight of Buttercup standing there, Fezzik and Westley on either side.

Humperdinck reacted quickly. "A conspiracy!" He pointed accusingly at her. "They're all in this together, to bring down the proud name of Florin's monarchy! She's a faithless whor–"

"Liar." Buttercup didn't shout, but the word carried through the hall, quieting it to a breathless anticipation. She began walking toward him, Westley hovering a few steps behind her, Fezzik remaining to guard the door. " _Liar_. You had those men take me, to kill me. I am only alive because my Westley rescued me. I would be lying dead on the Guilder frontier, your reason to declare war on them, when they have done nothing to deserve it. You are an evil, cowardly swine, not fit to rule six square feet of a prison cell, much less this country!"

Her sincerity was starkly obvious, and an ugly murmur rippled through the crowd. Humperdinck cast around wildly for a second, then abruptly drew his sword, leveling it at Buttercup. Not another second passed before Westley's was out too, and Humperdinck jeered, careful to keep Buttercup between them.

"One move, by any of you, and she dies," he said forcefully.

* * *

Even with his usual pallor, Rugen was noticeably white. "I see I killed you too quickly last time," he said, regathering his backbone. "A mistake I shan't make again. And this time, I'll be sure to leave more time for questioning."

"You really want to try?" Eliot's lip curled, and he nodded in invitation. "Come on."

"No." It was a small word, uttered weakly, but it stopped both men in their tracks. "Eliot ... no."

Eliot backed up just a little, keeping his attention firmly on Rugen, but able to see Inigo too. "Inigo –"

Inigo gave a sudden jerk, pulling the knife from his stomach, pressing his fist in to staunch the renewed spill of blood. Inch by feeble inch, he dragged himself up the wall until he was standing, albeit only with the wall's help.

"Good heavens." Rugen sounded genuinely amazed. "Are you still trying to win?"

Inigo tried to push himself away from the wall, but failed, and now neither Rugen nor Eliot could tear their eyes away. They stared, Rugen disbelieving, Eliot sympathetic, at Inigo's determination to overrule his body's total inability to do what he was asking it to.

"You've got an overdeveloped sense of vengeance," Rugen said venomously, moving in closer, sword raised.

Eliot flicked his blade at Rugen in clear warning to stay back, making him pause warily, before Inigo spoke up again.

"Eliot – let him...." His agony only added to the fervency of his plea.

Eliot faltered, torn. Finally, he took a deep breath, and nodded in concession to Inigo's prerogative to ask. He stepped back and sheathed his sword, bracing himself to not interfere.

Rugen gave an astonished laugh. "That's going to get you into trouble some day," he said, and lunged at Inigo.


	16. The Double Sword Cross

The entire chapel seemed frozen in the grip of the tableau in the aisle. Humperdinck and Westley glowered at one another over Buttercup's shoulder, neither moving to attempt to break the impasse. For her part, Buttercup's eyes fixed blankly on Humperdinck while her mouth pulled down unhappily, seeming simultaneously strained and resigned at being the object of a death threat yet again.

"Wait, whoa, whoa –" said Nate quickly, breaking the tense silence. "Look.... You don't want to do that – a room full of witnesses –"

"Oh, I can do it," Humperdinck answered confidently, glancing around at the crowd without much concern. "I am still the crown prince of Florin. I can take whatever steps I need to in defence of my person and my country against treason. Get back!" He glared at Westley, then looked past him to the people in the back of the chapel. "Call my guards! Tell that big oaf at the door to get out of the way!"

Humperdinck's words died away, leaving an uneasy lull. Then the king spoke into the hush, his frail voice easy to hear for the rapt audience. "Is what she said true?" he asked, slowly, but with deep misgiving.

Humperdinck did a double-take at his father, then noticed his mother's furrowed brow where she stood behind him, and laughed nervously. "Father – no, of course not –"

The king appeared to be a little shaky on the recent revelations, but his eyes had fixed upon Buttercup. "Child, has my son tried to hurt you?"

"I would never –!" Humperdinck belatedly remembered that he was holding the tip of his sword to her throat, and became momentarily lost for words as he searched for a more plausible tack. "That is –"

The king shuffled up to Buttercup and took her hand, ignoring the blade Humperdinck held. "What happened? Speak up, though, I can't hear a damn thing these days."

Buttercup's eyes focused on the king, his worried kindliness drawing her out of her slight daze. She paused, an expression almost of apology on her face at having to accuse his own son to him, but a quick look at Humperdinck along the length of the sword firmed her resolve. "He tried to have me killed," she said ringingly. "To stir up war with Guilder."

"Guilder?" the king repeated in crotchety suprise. "The hell he will! That last war took us years to sort out!" He turned to Humperdinck severely. "Boy, what have you been doing?"

"Er –" Humperdinck trailed off, feeling a cold steel touch on his throat. Turning his head very carefully, he discovered that Westley had used the distraction well. Sophie had also been shifting quietly around him, and now darted forward to snatch Buttercup safely out of the reach of his blade.

Westley's tone carried a full payload of cold hostility, but he made his suggestion lightly. "Drop your sword."

* * *

Inigo barely brought his sword up to deflect Rugen's thrust, the count's sword slewing deeply into his shoulder. Inigo didn't flinch, didn't even seem to notice, as though his mind were on other things. Rugen drew back and aimed for his heart again, but Inigo parried the blow into his other arm, registering no more reaction at it than last time.

Eliot watched, off to one side, his clenched jaw and taut shoulders the only sign of his ruthlessly curbed desire to step in.

Inigo managed to straighten fully, and Rugen hesitated before hastily lunging a third time. Inigo caught and met the attack, making Rugen draw back, cautious, and very slowly Inigo pushed away from the wall.

"Hello," said Inigo, voice all but sucked dry by his effort to stand and take a few small steps forward. "My name ... is Inigo Montoya; you killed my father ... prepare to die."

Even those few words were enough to make him lurch, and he kept himself from falling by catching at the beautifully laden table by his side, bowing in pain.

As though sensing the necessity, Rugen threw himself at Inigo, striking with power and precision, making no superfluous effort in the urgent attempt to kill him immediately.

Inigo brought up his defence only at the very last moment, stepping away from the table; but in the flurry of blows, not one new wound appeared on him.

The count kept backing up and Inigo followed, standing straighter, voice a little more audible as he nodded with conviction.

"Hello. My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father – prepare to die."

Rugen charged Inigo again, with a manic skill that made Eliot hold his breath without even realizing it, but he still could not land a blow. They circled the fire pit in the middle of the room, fencing with incredible speed, when a sudden slash of Inigo's blade threw Rugen off balance. He spun, knocking into a table before he recovered his footing, sending the table settings flying with a harsh clatter. With each step, Inigo's body and voice had firmed, becoming strong, driving.

"Hello! My name is Inigo Montoya – you killed my father – prepare to die."

"Stop saying that!" Rugen spat, making a wild swing at him.

Inigo snapped it aside easily, but instead of a killing blow, he stabbed Rugen in the shoulder, mirroring the wound on himself.

Rugen gasped at it, then swung again. Inigo only ducked, coming up with a thrust into Rugen's other shoulder. "Hello!" he roared against a backdrop of clanging steel, herding Rugen back across the hall. "My name is Inigo Montoya! You killed my father, prepare to die!"

Rugen's retreat was checked by the head table, and he gave an almost involuntary cry. "No!"

Without missing a beat, Inigo flicked his sword at Rugen's face, slicing a line across his cheek. "Offer me money," he said, wild-eyed.

"Yes," Rugen hissed quickly.

Inigo added a matching cut to Rugen's other cheek. "Power too – promise me that!"

"All that I have and more," said the count, eyes wide with desperation, not even trying to defend himself anymore against Inigo's furious mastery. " _Please_."

Inigo took a step back, keeping his sword trained on Rugen. He threw his other hand, slick with blood, out wide. "Offer me everything I ask for...."

"Anything you want!" Rugen made the promise even as he knocked Inigo's sword aside and rushed him. But Inigo caught Rugen's arm easily, and rammed his own sword home.

"I want my father back, you son of a bitch!" Inigo snarled, and twisted the blade with relish, staring into Rugen's eyes as the life drained out of them. Then he unceremoniously brought his foot up, bracing to pull the sword out, watching the body crumple to the floor.

For a moment, the realization of his revenge seemed to hold him up. Then he blinked and stumbled a little, sagging.

Eliot appeared at his shoulder and eased him down onto the dais, propping him back against one of the thick table legs behind them, leaving bloody smears on the tablecloth. As he did so, the faded scars on either of Inigo's cheeks caught his eye, and he spared a single glance for the bloody body next to them.

Then he met the swordsman's eyes and exchanged a dark, satisfied smile with him.

As though sensing the silence of completion that had fallen in the room on their coms, Parker spoke up. "~ _Eliot?_ ~"

"It's done."

Her satisfaction was palpable. "~ _Good_.~"

Eliot crouched down beside Inigo, gently pulling his hand away from his stomach. "Let me have a look."

"The others –" Inigo said, wincing in pain.

Eliot shrugged lightly, but just to make sure, he checked. "Hardison?"

"~ _They actually seem to have gotten things under control in there,_ ~" the hacker said, relief in his voice. "~ _I think you're okay_.~"

"They're okay," said Eliot to Inigo. "They'll let us know if they need us. Stay still." He sucked breath through his teeth at the wound, and shook his head, admiration on his face. "Man, I've seen some beserker rages in my time, but that was pretty impressive."

Inigo let his head loll back, resting against the table leg. "Thank you," he said exhaustedly.

* * *

Humperdinck dropped his sword with a muffled thunk on the carpet that ran up the aisle, and Buttercup broke from Sophie's protective hold to pick it up. She held it with some level of familiarity, keeping it low but threatening, glaring at Humperdinck.

"Ahh ..." he said worriedly, eyeing the way she quivered a little in anger, a mounting tension that was threatening to go off in any direction.

She took a half step forward. "You...." Her mouth clamped while she searched for the words to hurl at him, and the sword twitched restlessly in her hand.

Nate's eyes found Sophie's, but she was already moving to defuse the situation. She strode past Buttercup to Humperdinck, who once again displayed a moment of hope that some kind of rescue was at hand. Only to have it dashed by a slap that echoed hard around the hall, and snapped his head to the side with the force of it.

Sophie wrung her stinging hand a little, careful not to betray her internal gratification at it, or to catch Nate's twinkling eye. "You complete bastard!" she added, for good measure.

Buttercup took this in appraisingly, then transferred the sword to her other hand. She moved closer to Humperdinck, who looked very much like he wanted to back away; but Westley, wearing a proud smirk for his true love, wasn't letting him. She scowled at Humperdinck for a long second, drew her hand back, and put all her weight behind the slap to his already bright red cheek.

"~ _Whoa,_ ~" said Hardison approvingly, watching the scene on the video feed. "~ _Nice follow-through_.~


	17. The Proposal Hitch

Parker nestled in among the rafters, taking in the smells and sounds that reminded her of the last time she did this, in two minds about her next step.

On the one hand, things actually seemed to be going their way in the chapel. In fact, it was beginning to feel like things were wrapping up nicely, and Eliot had indicated a reluctance to move Inigo unless he had to. The only really viable escape route she had been able to figure out was not going to be kind to the injured man.

On the other hand, things had gone spectacularly wrong very quickly for them before, and their escape was her job. Eliot had told her to secure a way out, and until their hitter was convinced they were safe and didn't need one, she wasn't either.

Then, there was this escape route. Getting out of the castle was relatively easy; if Fezzik couldn't raise the portcullis for them, there was always a window and a rope, which she'd already sourced, although that raised the probability of injuries quite a lot. It was getting _away_ quickly that was the problem; there was eight of them altogether, so finding enough adequate hiding places in the village and forest, in a hurry, wasn't really realistic.

She chewed her lip.

For the most part, though, she was just torn between being curious and being scared.

"Eliot, how's Inigo doing?"

"~ _Plenty of blood loss, but I've got most of the wounds under control. Why?_ ~"

"The getaway. How could he handle climbing out a window and down a rope?"

"~ _I don't want to put any strain on them that we don't have to_ _, but we could probably figure something out_.~"

"Hm, okay. If we can open the portcullis, maybe he won't need to." She looked down doubtfully at the creatures below her. "Um ... what about riding a horse?"

* * *

With Fezzik on the door, nobody had need any extra incentive to obey when asked to remain in the chapel. Spare guards had already escorted Humperdinck to his chambers, and Westley had accompanied them by the king's request, to make sure there was no incident along the way. With Rugen dead and Yellin trapped, there was unlikely to be any kind of rescue attempt, but the king's consternation was making him err on the cautious side.

So everyone else was left milling around, although from the buzz of excited conversation, it didn't sound like any one was bored with the evening's events. Sophie was sticking close to Buttercup, at first to make sure she was okay, but that had quickly turned into a very enjoyable vilification session of Humperdinck for them both. Buttercup also interspersed this with rapturous praise of Westley, which Sophie willingly agreed with.

She was a little distracted, though, because there was the small matter of keeping an eye on Nate. He'd taken his earbud out, and was over in a corner with the king and queen, gesturing animatedly. She was beginning to get worried about just what was going on over there.

Westley's return created a stir among the gossiping nobles, but he paid them no attention, coming straight to Buttercup.

"Humperdinck?" Sophie asked.

Westley nodded. "He's not going anywhere."

Sophie felt compelled to make sure. "He is still alive, isn't he?"

His lips twisted. "Yes. But if he escapes now, he's far more resourceful and brave than I give him credit for. No one will stick their necks out for him at this point – certainly not those guards outside his door. I made sure of it."

"Just as long as he suffers for what he's done," said Buttercup. "You could have let me stab him, just a little bit."

Westley smiled at her gently. "I'm glad you didn't. I'd not have his blood soiling your hands. And whatever happens to us, I want him to live a long life – alone with his cowardice. That is certainly punishment enough."

"It is," Nate said, appearing behind them. "It's just a pity that the people of Florin have to suffer under him, don't you think?"

Both Sophie and Westley received his statement with the wariness of veterans of Nate's scheming, while Buttercup earnestly nodded her agreement.

Nate looked at the king, who had come with him, then back at Westley meaningfully. "The people of Florin have had kind of a rough deal. They deserve rulers who are going to care for them, not use them. Rulers who they can believe in."

Westley seemed to be trying to decide between incredulity and scolding his brother. "Nathan...."

"I'm just asking you to consider it," said Nate reasonably, ignoring Sophie's own look of stunned disbelief. "We can't leave the place in this mess. It'd be worse than if we never did anything.... And you did call us in."

Westley appealed to the king. "Sire – surely, you can't think this a good idea!"

The old king nodded ponderously, the weight of the crown on his head making itself felt. "It is unconventional, and seems risky ... but these days I'm not so sure about anything." He patted the hand of the queen, who had taken his arm, then looked kindly at Buttercup. "And this young lady loves you. In all our time knowing her, we have never had reason to doubt her judgement."

The queen nodded in agreement. "Nor are you grubbing for power, even with this unique opportunity. After hearing the story of all you did to rescue her, well – that is the kind of character a good ruler needs."

Westley shot a shrewd look at Nate. "He told you the whole story?"

"Yes, of course," said Nate smoothly. "The Cliffs of Insanity, dueling a master swordsman and wrestling a giant, outwitting an assassin, braving the Fire Swamp, torture, and even a miraculous recovery from being mostly dead...."

"I did wonder what had happened to Miracle Max," said the king musingly, not noticing Westley staring daggers at Nate. "He used to give me tonics, you know, help me keep a clear head. My hearing, too."

Westley opened his mouth, but was checked by Buttercup's hand slipping quietly into his. "I.... Would you let me think about it?"

"Of course," said the king. "We can speak more about it tomorrow. Young Mr Ford here has some very good ideas for how to announce it all to the people...."

Westley smiled through his teeth. "Yes, I imagine he does."

Eliot spoke up over coms. "~ _If we're not running for our lives any time soon, can we get Max up here to look at Inigo?_ ~"

* * *

The whole team had ended up in the spare room that had been turned into Inigo's sickroom, once Nate and Eliot were satisfied with the security of Humperdinck's state of house arrest, and had dealt with Yellin on the gate, who was more than happy to go along with the current regime.

"Out of the way, Brute Squad," said Max by the bed, exasperated by Fezzik's fussing by Inigo's side. The look the giant gave him was so mournful that Max relented with a sigh. "Okay, here, you big lummox, you can hold the light. But stop sitting on the bed, you're tipping him sideways!"

Westley turned back from the distraction to Nate. "Any chance you were bluffing, back there?" he asked, quietly fuming.

"What's the problem?" Nate asked in return. "You have something better to do with your life?"

He held his hands up. "All I wanted was to rescue Buttercup, and ride off into the sunrise!"

"Great! And then what?"

"That's another thing," Westley continued, ignoring the question. "Did you actually tell the king that I did all that ... rescuing?"

Nate nodded. "So?"

"So? It's not true! Your team did it all!"

Nate smiled and shook his head. "Westley, I know you. If you hadn't had to call us in, you would have done all that, and more, to get her back." He put his hand on Westley's shoulder. "You know you would."

Westley's aggravation deflated at the obvious pride and confidence his brother had in him. "I ... alright, yes," he said, conceding the accuracy of Nate's assessment. He looked at the team, sprawled in various poses of relaxation around the room, all of them shamelessly tracking the brothers' argument. It was hard not to notice how none of them really seemed to want to leave one another's company, nor the job that seemed to be lingering on unfinished.

"I'm glad I did," he acknowledged with sudden honesty. "Call you in, that is. It's ... much easier with a team at your back, who you can trust."

Nate looked pleased, and in heartfelt agreement with the statement. He nodded over at the bed, where Fezzik and Max's heads bowed over Inigo, who was squeezing Fezzik's hand reassuringly. "Remember that," he said. "You could do with a better head of security around here, for starters. And he'll need something to do with the rest of his life, too."

Westley cocked an eyebrow. "That's true." He looked over to Buttercup, who had been passing the time assisting Max however she could, seeming unconcerned about the outcome of the argument. "Buttercup ... what do you wish?"

She looked up, with a startled little "Oh!" as though what she wished hadn't figured into anything much since she'd lived on a simple homestead, with an adoring farmboy. She came to him, considering his question. "I ... I mostly want to never leave your side again. But ... I would also like to help my people. They have come to care for me, and I for them," she said simply.

Westley stared down at her, seeing perhaps for the first time that she had come as far from their old farm as he had. "So you would do this with me – by my side? For the rest of our lives?"

She held his eyes, faith and assurance shining in hers. "Of course.... If you wish, too."

Westley took her hands, with a smile too full of emotion to speak. Eventually he drew her closer to his side, and turned to Nate, Buttercup following his lead. "In that case, Nate ... I guess I don't mind so much."


	18. The Epilogue Celebration

Ten days later, the main square of Florin City was filled as never before, to celebrate the country's 500th anniversary, and the promise of a very special event and announcement.

"Hardison, how're we looking?" asked Nate, standing with the king and queen by the doors to the balcony.

"~ _Good to go. I got you a sweet set up, man, I'm telling you_.~"

"Glad to hear it. Westley?"

"~ _We're ready when you are_.~"

"Sophie? Eliot?"

"~ _We're all set_.~"

Nate nodded, and turned to the king and queen. "Your Majesties? Are you ready?"

The king, looking far more bright-eyed and alert now that Miracle Max was once again settled in the castle and caring for him, bounced on his toes a little. "Yes indeed. Lead on, young man."

Nate stepped out onto the balcony, and nodded to the chief trumpeter. The crowd quieted at the blast of fanfare, then hailed the king and queen with cheers and applause.

The king let the cheering continue a little, then raised his hands, making it die down. "My people," he said, voice caught by the mic Hardison had put on him and carried by speakers in every part of the square. "I can't tell you how my heart swells to see you all here today, that we may celebrate our country's 500th anniversary together. I am proud to be your king."

Another deep cheer welled up, and he waited it out before continuing. "I am sure many of you have heard the rumors surrounding my son's recent actions and marriage. Although it pains me, I want to tell you the truth of the matter. That is, that my son has acted in bad faith toward you, this country, and myself, and I do not trust him to govern Florin after me. For this reason, I have disinherited him, and he will soon be tried and sentenced according to his crimes."

A hush had fallen over the crowd, although nobody seemed too upset by the news. The rumors about Humperdinck that the team had seeded throughout the city and surrounding villages had prepared the people for this nicely.

"In his stead, I have chosen a new crown prince and princess as my legal heirs, to rule over you when I am gone. This is a young couple in whom I have every confidence, whose love is true and whose hearts are valiant. Would you like to meet them?" he asked, with a twinkle in his eye.

For a moment, the crowd seemed stunned, and then a quick-building hurrah boomed through the square.

"Then I give you: Prince Westley!"

The crowd turned to where the king pointed, to the archway at one end of the square, and there was a collective holding of breath as Westley emerged into the sunlight. The whole crowd, acting as one, instinctively kneeled before him; even though his clothes were dark and of simple make, and he bore no adornment apart from the royal ring and a prince's crown, he stood before them as an unmistakeable leader of men.

He descended the stairs and moved out among the people, visibly moved, then looked up and gave Nate the ghost of a sheepish smile. He made his way through his kneeling subjects, eventually arriving at the dais under the balcony, where Inigo and Fezzik stood solemnly, waiting for him.

With the attention of the audience back in his direction, the king continued. "Prince Westley and his true love were once commoners, like yourselves. Soon, at the feast, their full story will be recounted to you: a story of fencing, fighting, torture, revenge, giants, monsters, escapes, miracles, and true love triumphant!"

The citizens of Florin seemed to know a good story when it was promised, and murmured excitedly at this.

The king nodded. "Your prince and princess have pledged never to forget their beginnings while they serve you and this great nation. That is why they have requested to have their wedding today, on this anniversary – right here, in the square, among us all!"

The cheer that this announcement elicited from the common people drew them all back up to their feet, and the king had to gesture repeatedly to get them to quiet down again.

"Clear the aisle, then, for your princess bride – Princess Buttercup!"

If the acclaim was loud before, the roar at this was deafening, as Buttercup emerged from the same arch Westley had. Her gown was resplendent with jewels and precious thread, yet couldn't come close to the dazzling smile she bestowed on the sea of euphoric subjects. It was some time before the guards could re-establish order, and manage to force a corridor all the way to the front where Westley stood.

Meanwhile the band struck up the wedding march, amplified by Hardison's speakers to help suppress the crowd's excessive exuberance. First Parker, then Sophie, stepped from the archway and proceeded one by one down the aisle, each in their own version of a bridesmaid saunter. They took their places opposite Inigo and Fezzik, and a breathless quiet fell over the square as every eye turned to Buttercup.

Eliot stepped up to her side, offering her his arm with courtly respect and admiration. "Princess. May I fulfill my promise?" he asked formally, unable to keep the grin off his face.

She looked up at him, smiling back the full reward of the trust she had given him and the team. She took his arm with pleasure. "You may," she said, and at that, Eliot walked her with due stateliness down the aisle, through her people, and safely to Westley's side.

An unassuming, earnest-faced clergyman stepped up in front of the couple, who stood golden and warm and joyous in their love and in the sunlight. He gazed out over the crowd, silent with anticipation, raised his arms in benediction, and said, "Loyal and dearly beloved subjects, we are gathered here today to witness the marriage of this man, and this woman...."

* * *

Eliot stretched out and snagged another beer from the tray of a servant, bustling past. He raised it at the others. "To a job well done," he said.

Hardison, Parker, and Sophie raised theirs in response and drank to it, then Parker added, "To not dying. Any of us."

Hardison grinned. "To a kickass show."

They drank, and Sophie looked over to where the story of Westley and Buttercup was being told to a rapt audience, and then at the couple themselves circulating freely through their people. She smiled with just a little mistiness, and raised her glass. "To true love."

They drank, and Hardison shot a sly look at Eliot, and the little smile which persisted in hanging around his lips. He chuckled, making the hitter look up sharply.

"What?" asked Eliot, belligerently.

Hardison grinned gleefully. "You're such a softy, man. Look at you, all mushy about the happy ending."

Eliot spluttered. "Wha– I'm – hey!... I just ... like it when everything works out, that's all."

Sophie echoed Hardison's amusement fondly. "That's all?" she repeated lightly.

Eliot's defensiveness subsided slightly, and he shrugged. "Just ... don't get to be that kind of hero very often, you know? To have someone trust you to come through for them...." He paused, thinking about it. "It's a good feeling," he finished seriously.

Hardison's eyebrows raised. "Hey, we trust you to come through for us all the time," he said, a little indignantly.

Parker rolled her eyes. "That's different. We're _us_. Of course we don't let each other down."

Nate, who had made his way over to them and caught the tail of the exchange, raised his own glass. "Well said, Parker. On that note: to family."

The rest of the team exchanged grins and toasted. "To family."

He pulled up a chair. "Nice job on the accoustics, Hardison. Did you finish Westley's IDs and backstory?"

Hardison nodded. "No connection to piracy or any other illicit dealings. Any leos looking closer at that tale they're telling over there, are going to decide the 'Dread Pirate Roberts' is just inflated storytelling by gullible locals."

Nate nodded with satisfaction. "Good. Thank you." He stretched out. "This feels good. We should get away more often."

"Yeah, it's been so relaxing," said Eliot with a snort. "You even sit down in the last week?"

"I'm sitting now," Nate said. "This was kind of a big deal here, you know. There was a lot to do."

"And you did nearly all of it," said Sophie dryly.

"Yeah, well, you guys got some days off –" he started to say, when a page arrived at his elbow.

"Excuse me, Mr Ford, the king is asking for you. Something about the Guilder delegation, I believe?"

"Of course," Nate said quickly. "Excuse me, guys."

Hitter, hacker, grifter, and thief gave understanding smiles, raising their glasses once more in ironic salute to their mastermind, hurrying away to join the king, ex-pirate, princess, swordsman, and giant where they stood with Guilder's ambassador.

Eliot caught Sophie's eye, and gestured his chin toward Nate. "You notice – we kind of just stole an entire country?"

Sophie shook her head. "I know." She sighed resignedly. "He's going to be impossible after this."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that's it, folks. In the interests of scrupulousness, I should acknowledge that in the book, Goldman does deconstruct the concept of the Happily Ever After ending – and what happens after that – but if you value the sanctity of happy endings, I advise stopping where the Grandfather does when he reads it. With mine, I guess I'm kind of trying to have my cake and eat it too, in a way.
> 
> (Also, as noted, this was written before the third season and I had no idea the team would actually go on to steal a small useless European country, so the last lines make me giggle even more now.)
> 
> Anyway. Shalom.


End file.
